


REVOLUTION: Three

by ameliaflux



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Gen, Multi, REVO3, REVOLUTION: Three, Revolution, Season 3, revolution season 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-20 21:29:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2443796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ameliaflux/pseuds/ameliaflux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An original telling of the events of Revolution after Season 2; left with loose ends and unanswered questions after the sad cancellation of the television show, this story depicts all characters of relevance and their fates.</p><p>REVO3 follows our favorite characters as, once again, they are split up and put on separate journeys while aiding the Texas Republic in their war against the Patriots (dubbed "The Patriot Purge"). Tensions are at an all time high and relationships will be put the the test. War isn't easy but family is just as difficult.<br/>What's happening between Charlie and Monroe? What will Miles discover about the Georgia Federation and the former Monroe Republic? Where has Connor gone off to? What's happening in Bradbury, Idaho? Has Rachel put the blinders on again? Can Aaron stop the Nanotech?</p><p>Guess you'll just have to find out...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> So, each chapter has been inspired by a particular song and the chapter titles reflect that. I totally recommend you listen to the individual songs while you read the chapter but, if that's not your thing, you don't have to. 
> 
> This chapter reflects Prelude by Foals. Enjoy!  
> (or don't...that's okay)

                Maybe he wasn’t the straight-A kid genius sitting with his hands folded back when he went to school but Sebastian Monroe did have a particular ingenuity about him. Looking at him, you could never put your finger on why he seemed so relaxed when met with a challenge that required some thought out strategy. He would sit there, looking bored as all hell with his gaze fixed on whatever lay on the table as he allowed words to swirl around his head in the air as they exited other people’s mouths. If his very personality hadn’t been built upon bravado, Monroe might have dropped a hint here or there to lead the others along so that this whole strategic meeting at least appeared to be a group effort.

                It had been so long since he and Miles had been together in an official meeting like this that Monroe had forgotten Miles had the same thought process as him; they shared the same strategic genius that none of their teachers from years ago would ever believe they were capable of.  So, rather than “wowing” everyone with his silent brilliance (after all ineffective possibilities had been ruled out and they seemed to be in a compromising position) by determining the solution he thought of the moment he took a look at the facts and figures, Monroe found himself reaffirming everything Miles was saying.

                With someone as egotistical and prideful as Monroe appeared to be, this actually didn’t upset him as much as it usually would have if it had been anyone else. Miles was and always would be Monroe’s equal; no doubts about it, although Monroe was quite sure Miles would never want to hear it. Sure, he might look like a completely useless schmuck to anyone else in that room but the only person’s opinion he cared for was Miles’.  _And Charlie’s._

Whoa, just a minute there. Where had _that_ thought come from? The five foot six blonde seemed to stroll right into Monroe’s thoughts despite his efforts to keep her as far away from him as possible. There were two things Monroe didn’t want (and, to a certain degree, couldn’t bear) to think about that were kept at bay by this Patriot Purge he had a full hand in. One was the abandonment and betrayal of his son while the other was Miles’ untouchable niece. Both pressed in on Monroe’s mind if he gave them power by succumbing to the dark and silence.

                Monroe hadn’t noticed where the conversation drifted off to as he attempted to dispel the forbidden thoughts causing him to stroke his bottom lip lightly with his thumb. He thought he heard his name as his eyes drifted off to the flaps of the tent, leading out into the Rangers’ war camp, but he didn’t respond. “Bass?” a familiar voice repeated with a bit more emphasis to really grab his attention. Monroe looked up to see Miles and General Blanchard staring him down. Clearing his throat and his mind (he hoped) as well, Monroe dropped his hand into his lap and leaned forward onto his knees to show that he was back from wherever his mind drifted to while they spoke. “Yeah, sorry,” He apologized dryly. “What was that?”

                Miles gave Blanchard a look; his brows rising and falling in a swift motion before turning to look at Bass, not even bothering to cover up his exasperation. “Were you listening to _anything_ we’ve just discussed?” Miles inquired with his usual crassness. “Because, I gotta tell ya, I’m not likin’ the idea of having to repeat myself or anything else this _walnut_ has said.” Blanchard had been nodding his head in agreement with Miles before the remark meant to mock had been uttered. Now, Frank just glared at Miles, the salt and pepper hairs on his chin twitching as he slightly shook his head. At that reference, Bass wanted to grin but he suppressed the urge to do just that so that he could bullshit his way out of this conversation.

                “Of course, I was listening.” Bass claimed, his voice sounding more sarcastic rather than innocent. “We were talking about, uh…” Bass paused just briefly to get his mind wrapped around what the topic of conversation was before he completely spaced out. He recalled them discussing allies and the potential of gaining the California Commonwealth’s support but not much else after that. So, taking the gamble with a slight and smug grin, he continued, “…how to get California on our side against those plastic sons of bitches.” Frank returned Monroe’s grin while Miles saw right through him. Deciding not to call him out on it, Miles tried to bring attention back to their meeting.

                Blanchard cleared his throat, grabbing Monroe’s attention as he did so. “Alright,” Frank began in his Texan drawl, placing both of his hands on the table in the middle of the tent. “The only thing we need to figure out now is how to get through to Governor Affleck. You know them Californians; when they smell war, they tuck their tails and run the other way.” The General straightened himself out then turned to a cabinet tucked away in the corner of the tent. As he grabbed a glass and poured himself some whiskey, Frank continued on with trying to find a solution. “Now, if I had a better relationship with Miss Affleck, I’d go there myself. But I’m afraid we’re not on very good speaking terms and I’m way too old to be hiking cross country like that. The farther I am from those socialist hippies, the better.” Frank offered a phlegmy chuckle as he sipped from his whiskey glass.

                Monroe looked at Miles who seemed a bit defeated at this point. “Yeah, I never had much experience with Governor Affleck either so I doubt she’d hear me out, let alone let me into her office. Especially if I tell her who I am.” Miles declared, looking down at the map laid out across the table. The sight of them made Monroe want to laugh. _They’re giving up way too easily._ He thought, leaning back in his seat with his signature smirk. Miles noticed Bass’ change in body language and almost immediately picked up that he knew something and was withholding that information for entertainment. Monroe didn’t even have time to enjoy the two wringing their hands over something as insignificant as to who should be sent to convince the Governor.

                Before Miles could question him, Bass offered his piece of information, “I can talk to Governor Affleck.” Blanchard looked up from his glass and knitted his bushy brows together in curiosity. Monroe scratched his unshaved chin before continuing, “The Governor and I have some sort of a history. I’m pretty sure I can get her to talk to me. But I make no promises on a treaty or even military aid. You said it yourself, Frank,” – Monroe smiled at the General as he knew that keeping his obvious favor irritated Miles ever so slightly – “those socialist hippies run for the hills if there’s even a mention of war.”

                With a grin, General Blanchard raised his whiskey glass to Monroe, eliciting an eye roll from Miles who could never understand how the two managed to humor each other. Ignoring his state of annoyance, Miles gave Bass a questioning look before turning to Blanchard. “So, you’re okay with him going to California and talking to the Governor on Texas’ behalf?” Miles questioned with a distrustful implication that kind of irritated Bass. Clenching his jaw, Monroe looked between Miles and Blanchard; the latter returning Miles’ concern despite having shared a moment of amusement with Bass just before.

                Blanchard grumbled, looking down at the bottom of his empty whiskey glass. “I suppose you’re right, Miles.” He responded, pouring himself some more liquid luck. “He can’t just go by himself.” Miles nodded his head and sighed heavily as if he had made a big decision; a decision he didn’t want to make or follow through with. “I guess I’ll have to go with him then.” Miles stated. Monroe looked at Miles in slight disbelief as it had been a long time since he and his best friend had been on a journey alone together. Miles had a tendency to bring someone else along as Monroe knew he was trying to keep himself from “falling into the black pit” that Bass tended to push him in. Before Bass could even come up with a snarky comment, Blanchard shook his head and placed his glass on top of the table. “Sorry, Miles,” Frank declined. “You can’t go with him.”

                Both Miles and Monroe looked at Blanchard, puzzled by the General’s declaration. “Excuse me?” Miles uttered but not with the usual amount of sarcasm he laced the phrase with. “Why’s that?” Monroe was positive Miles wanted to look relieved but he knew that Miles was more upset by the fact he wasn’t being allowed to go through with a decision he declared final in his head. Blanchard glanced between the two before pointing to the part of the map marked off as the Monroe Republic. “I need you to get to the Republic and grab up any surviving Militia members that’ll support our cause.” Frank explained. “Since I don’t completely trust this asshole with that task, I’m sending you there, Miles. I think them soldiers will follow you more willingly than _him_.”

                Monroe was a bit offended but he understood where the General was coming from. He hadn’t been the best President; he didn’t even care about his own men. They had all been disposable to him and that’s exactly how he had treated them. They were a means to an end; a way to reach his goals. Monroe knew that if any of them ever laid eyes on him again, especially when he was no longer in a position of power, they’d kill him on the spot. Anyone who had ever been solely loyal to him, he had killed while the ones who served him out of fear were still breathing for the most part and this was bitterly ironic to Monroe. After meditating on the issue, he realized that being betrayed by someone who feared him was less painful than being betrayed by someone who had been loyal to him. Monroe knew now, in his recollected but broken sanity, that he set himself up for destruction.

                Miles sighed heavily, leaning against the table once again before muttering under his breath as if he’d come to a difficult conclusion. “Dammit,” Miles looked up from the table at the flaps of the tent. “Charlie will go with you.” Then, Miles finally looked at him, filling Monroe with all sorts of mixed feelings. “Excuse me?” Monroe replied, keeping his face clear of any emotion. Miles lifted his eyebrows and shook his head slightly. “You heard me.” He responded, pushing himself up from the table to face Bass completely.

                “I am _not_ taking your niece to California.” Bass stated as if it was his choice which he liked to believe it was. “The only thing she’ll do is slow me down.” Guilt crept up his body at that statement; Monroe didn’t actually believe that but hell would freeze over before he ever admitted that Charlie was actually a better traveling companion than Miles. Bass locked eyes with Miles in an attempt to change his mind; to intimidate him into getting his way but, as he should’ve known, that would never work on his brother who was just as stubborn as he was. “I’m not asking, Bass,” Miles told him, matching his gaze with equal intensity. “I’m _telling_ you that she is depending on whether or not she wants to.” Monroe said nothing to Miles; he continued to stare him down before eventually retreating to sulk like a child. This behavior elicited a grumble from Miles who had always hated when Bass entered one of his moods. “I don’t want her to go with you either, Bass. But what other option do we have?” Miles explained with slight exasperation coating his voice. “I can’t trust that you’ll stay on task with this if you take into account how easily distracted you become when something related to whatever sick obsessions you have gets in the way. Since I can’t come to hold your hand and force you to focus, Charlie is the only other candidate who, like me, can tolerate you for the greater good and control themself when urges like slitting your throat in the middle of the night come up.”

                Monroe glanced at Miles, completely aware that he didn’t actually want to kill him anymore; he just said so because the son of a bitch was too stubborn to admit they were friends again. But, despite how desperately he wanted the obvious, Bass knew Miles had a point. Though she had never mentioned it aloud, Charlie _had_ forgiven Monroe for the terrible things he had done. Bass would never understand why she did but he accepted the fact that she had since the only way of knowing why would be to ask her and Monroe wasn’t completely sure Charlie would ever let him know.

                Bass clenched his jaw, the muscles in his cheeks flexing as he did. Then, between clenched teeth, he muttered with defeat, “Fine.” Miles’ mouth set itself in a straight line as Monroe got onto his feet. The two brothers looked at General Blanchard who was downing another glass of whiskey. “It’s settled then,” Frank finalized. “Miles will go to the Republic and Monroe with take what’s-her-face to California.” With a stern glare, Bass tried to keep his temper under control while simultaneously unsure of why he was so upset. As Miles exited the tent, Monroe followed but, just before he exited, he turned to spare one last glance at Blanchard and muttered, “Her _name_ is Charlotte.” Whether or not he heard it, Bass would never know because, as soon as he said it, Monroe fled the tent and made his way through the Rangers’ camp to his own tent where he would pack his things to leave at first light.

*** * ***

It wasn’t long before Miles’ was entering Charlie’s tent. She was sprawled out on her cot, a book held firmly in her hands as her blue eyes scanned the pages. Miles wasn’t quite sure what book Charlie was reading nor did he really care. All he knew was what he could observe which was that the book was extremely tattered and worn; it definitely did not reveal its former glory by the turn of a page. After lingering in the flap of her tent, Miles decided to catch her attention by clearing his throat. Though she never struck him as the bookish type, Charlie seemed almost obsessively absorbed in the book. Her eyebrows furrowed as a reaction to a line she had just read; she almost looked a bit disturbed.

                “Hey there, kid.” Miles greeted, watching her tear her attention away from the novel. When she looked up from the book, Charlie snapped upward and slammed the book shut before placing it face down on her lap. As if she never reacted that way, Charlie’s face reflected the nonchalance she wished she could’ve had moments earlier. Miles gave Charlie a suspicious look, wanting to ask exactly what she had been reading but before he could utter a single word, she cut him off completely. “Hey, Miles.” Charlie responded. “How was the meeting?” Clearing his throat, Miles walked further into the tent, hands on his hips. “It was…okay?” Miles knitted his eyebrows together as he realized it was a stupid question for Charlie to ask.

                Shaking his head, Miles decided to get straight to the point. “Listen, Charlie,” He began, unsure of how to sell this idea to her. “I need you to go with Monroe to California. I know that you probably think you have better things to do or you just don’t want to—” Abruptly, Charlie cut him off with a simple, “Okay.” And, for some reason, this shocked Miles into silence. It wasn’t like this had been the first time he had asked Charlie to accompany Monroe somewhere but the last time he did, he had the comfort of knowing she had probably agreed to go only so she could check out Connor. Also, last time he asked, Charlie had at least let him _finish_ his sales pitch. It was odd that she was so quick to agree with the idea and it made Miles suspicious of her true intentions.

                “W-What?” Miles managed as he tried to figure his niece out. “You didn’t even let me finish.” Charlie smiled and stood up to meet him eye to eye despite her shorter height. “You don’t need to finish, Miles.” She explained, crossing her arms over her chest, still smirking into oblivion. “I know that if you’re asking me to go with Monroe, then there’s a damn good reason why I should go. I trust your judgment.” Miles still felt odd about the situation but decided not to press the issue unless he wanted to discover something he’d rather be in denial over. “Um, okay then.” He concluded, his eyebrows still knitted together. “You, uh, leave in the morning.”

                With that, Miles stepped outside of Charlie’s tent. As he headed back to his own tent which he shared with Rachel, he realized that rather than concerning himself over what had just happened back in Charlie’s tent, he was now faced with the daunting task of telling Rachel that her daughter would be on the road again with her “archenemy” _alone_. Miles knew even before he set foot in his own tent that he was in for it. He hated upsetting Rachel but sometimes she frustrated him with the simple fact that she couldn’t seem to separate her morals from what needed to be done. Though Miles saw her as a guiding light, he also saw where she was a liability.

                But, as Miles entered the tent, he was met with an eyeful of absolute beauty. He rarely said it aloud because expressing his feelings was never something he had an easy time with, but Miles really did love Rachel. He _loved_ her to death; no matter how frustrating she could be and no matter how much they fought. Miles had a theory that denying you loved someone only made you love them even more and, when it came to Rachel, this proved to be true.

                Rachel sat on the cot they shared, writing slowly in her “big book of crazy” (which Gene had enjoyed calling it before they all realized she wasn’t crazy). Her right hand scribbled across the page while the other twisted a lock of hair around her index finger. Miles knew she was in deep concentration as she didn’t even notice he had entered the tent. Rachel had been going on about how she needed to focus on whatever it was she had written to see if she could make sense of some things; to see if she missed anything. When the war against the Patriots started, she had decided it was a good idea to look back on the journal, especially since it was now a proven fact that she wasn’t crazy; no, definitely not crazy… _Just obsessive._

“Hey, Rachel,” Miles greeted, deciding it would be better if they just got right to it. “We need to talk.” It didn’t seem like Rachel heard him due to the fact she didn’t even bother to look up. The only response he got that indicated that she was acknowledging him was a slight, “Hmm?” Miles sighed and sat next to Rachel on the cot, ready to unload the new information on her whether she listened to him or not. “So, me and Bass, we just finished talking to Frank about, uh, strategies and we decided to send Bass to California to negotiate a treaty and gain support.” Miles began hesitantly, unsure if he wanted to reach the actual point. Before he could continue, Rachel scoffed, not even looking up from her journal. “You’re actually letting that psychopath go by himself?” She questioned with a sort of sarcastic disbelief. Miles cleared his throat again but look at the profile of her face, her eyes scanning the pages of the notebook on her lap. “Well, no,” He informed her, trying to keep his resolve intact. “We’re actually sending Charlie with him.”

                Miles saw Rachel lift her eyes from the journal for the first time since he entered the tent so that she could give him the deadliest glare she could ever muster. “You’re sending Charlie to do _what_?” Rachel spat under her breath, trying her best not to shout. “Did you even ask her if she wants to?” Miles rolled his eyes, absolutely irritated because he knew what card she was trying to play and it wasn’t going to work. “Yes, I did.” Miles responded firmly. “And she said she’d do it.”

                That was the point Rachel completely lost it, her voice rising ever so slightly above a whisper but below a shout as she accused, “So you encouraged it? Did you even _attempt_ to _discourage_ it?” Rachel stood up, shaking her head in disbelief while Miles just sat there, completely confused by the conversation. Rachel always did this; she’d be angry about one thing then completely upset about another in a split second. First she was mad because she thought Miles hadn’t asked; now she was upset that he hadn’t tried to discourage Charlie. _This woman will be the death of me._ Miles thought, unsure of how to deal with Rachel when she was in a fit.

                “I have to talk to her.” Rachel resolved, marching out of the tent before Miles could even protest. After a few minutes, Miles just let out the breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding in. He knew whatever conversation between Rachel and Charlie that would occur any minute now would not be pleasant nor would it accomplish anything. Both mother and daughter were absolute in their decisions; stubborn beyond all belief. Rachel trying to discourage Charlie would only be reaffirmation for her decision. Then, what would Rachel do? She’d rip herself a new one and beat herself up about pushing Charlie away again despite her efforts to mend whatever broken connection they continued trying to rekindle after everything.

                Miles was secretly glad he wouldn’t have to be around to see Rachel drive herself into the ground; he didn’t think he could bear seeing her in that state ever again. Thinking about it made him want to leave for the Monroe Republic that very minute despite his earlier concerns about crossing into that territory after trying so desperately to get away from it. War was never easy, that was absolute. But why did it seem like family was just as difficult? Miles could never answer that question although he desperately wanted to.

*** * ***

                Charlie had taken a moment to put down her newly acquired novel and get to packing for her trip to California. At first, she wasn’t sure why the idea of traveling with Monroe again excited her but, after a while of coming up with a justification, she settled on the fact that it would be nice to get away from her mother for a little while. As much as she loved her, Charlie realized Rachel was just one of those people that she couldn’t bear to spend every minute with. If she had to listen to her mother complain about morality and whether or not our war tactics against the Patriots were right, Charlie was sure she’d stab herself in the neck with an arrow.

                Rachel could be so set in her ways that she didn’t realize when she was wrong and the way she tried to force her opinions on Charlie just ended up suffocating her. And as Charlie packed her bag, she realized just how irritated she was by her own mother. Her motions became erratic while her jaw clenched the way it did when she was angry. At this point, it wouldn’t be a good idea to give Charlie a reason to unleash that anger; all the frustration built up over the past weeks was just waiting for a reason to release.

                Then, in a stroke of bad luck (or good luck, depending on one’s perception), in comes Rachel Matheson, stepping into Charlie’s humble abode. When Charlie heard her mother’s entrance along with the familiar clearing of her throat, she entertained the idea that she had actually been born with some sort of ESP that informed her when a bad situation was about to occur. “Charlie,” Rachel began with her best attempt at a motherly tone. “Can we talk?” Charlie was now quite positive that Miles had already spilled the beans on what she was intending to do. _Couldn’t he have waited until_ after _I was on my way?_ She thought, grabbing a shirt from the floor near the corner of the tent. _Damn that man._

                Swinging around with a show of aggression, the shirt hanging from her fingers, she flashed a sarcastic smile towards her mother as she replied, “Sure, mom. What’s up?” Charlie now had her back to her mother again as she tucked the shirt into her pack. Rachel, with her arms crossed and her expression set in its usual look of cold disappointment, shrugged her shoulders a bit. “I just wanted to know why you would ever agree to accompany a murdering psychopath halfway across the damn continent because, last time I checked, we weren’t exactly on friendly terms with said psychopath.” She stated, her tone only adding fuel to Charlie’s growing irritation.

                With a heavy sigh, Charlie spun around to look her mother right in the eye while crossing her own arms over her chest. Looking at the two, you knew that they were related as they seemed to mirror each other down to exact detail. The wavy blonde hair (though one possessed a darker shade), the icy blue glare, and the intensity they both exuded when challenging another about their opinions. But, despite sharing many similar traits, the two couldn’t have been more different; especially when it came to how they felt about one person in particular.

                “Last time I checked,” Charlie began, mocking her mother’s previous statement. “ _You_ weren’t on friendly terms with him. _I_ , on the other hand, don’t really have much of an issue with him anymore.” Rachel scoffed, her face twisting in disgust. “You don’t _know_ him like I do, Charlie.” She spat, trying to keep her voice down. “He killed Danny; He killed your father. And you know better than I do that he’s killed more brothers and fathers than either of us could ever keep track of. I was his prisoner for 10 years so when I say, Charlie, the dumbest thing you could do is trust him, then believe me, _it is_.” Rachel’s voice broke as she pleaded with Charlie, again trying to sway her opinion.

                “Mom,” Charlie responded, her voice as even as she could keep it while her gaze continued to hold her mother’s. “Danny is dead. Dad is dead. There is absolutely nothing we can do to bring them back. Yeah, Monroe is to blame for a lot of bad things that has happened in our lives but what about what we’ve done, hmm? What about all the brothers and fathers I’ve killed? What about all the people _you_ killed to save Danny when you and dad turned off the power and basically ended the world? Why does Monroe have to atone for what he’s done but we get to wash our hands clean when we might as well have done almost the same amount of evil?

                Look, I’m not saying that we forget about what he’s done. I’m just saying that rather than think about what he did, let’s think about what he’s done for us in the present. He is trying just like you are trying.” Charlie was the last person who would ever claim to be part of Monroe’s fan club but she’d be damned if she didn’t admit that she had forgiven him. Hating someone was easy but letting it go was difficult and that’s why she chose to forgive but not forget; she chose the lighter path rather than the darker one she had been traveling down just weeks before.

                Rachel’s eyes were red from the tears threatening to spill from the emotion building up but her mouth remained in an even line. Shaking her head and keeping her eyes locked on her daughter’s, she whispered, “Charlie, you are so naïve. Look at you, so beautiful but so completely dumb. You are just what Monroe wants; what he craves. He wants someone as good as you so that he can corrupt them too. There is such darkness in that monster that you may never see unless you open your eyes.” Charlie knitted her eyebrows together, her eyes brimming with tears as her mother struck her so deeply with words that she thought they might open physical wounds across her body.

                “When, um,” She struggled with what she was trying to say next as she looked down at the floor with a shake of her head. “When Miles was missing and we went to find him, Bass and I got into an argument where he said some cruel things. When I responded, he brought up something that happened between us a long time ago in Philly then he _forced_ himself upon me. It was some sort of sick display of dominance and, Charlie; I see the way he looks at you. Bass wants what he can’t have and he knows as well as anyone else that he can’t have you. I’m begging you not to go with him because he will hurt you and I can’t lose you like I lost Danny.”

                Rachel began to cry softly as she now brought her eyes back up to meet Charlie’s to show her the pure and raw emotion she was experiencing. But Charlie was experiencing another raw emotion of her own. Anger and hurt twisted in her core as she glared straight into her mother’s eyes. Though Charlie knew where her mother was coming from, she couldn’t help but feel the way she did as she heard the words that just left her mother’s lips. It was like a slap across the face receiving verbal confirmation about what Rachel actually thought of her. Charlie’s mouth set itself into a straight line as she held back the tears in her eyes. “Get out.” Charlie growled, her response surprising Rachel.

                “W-What?” Rachel replied quietly, not sure where Charlie’s reaction was coming from. But Charlie wasn’t buying the fake innocence she believed her mother to be displaying. “I said, get out of my tent!” Charlie shouted, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks if she had to look at Rachel for another minute. “If you think I’m _so_ naïve; that I’m _so_ dumb and weak as to let Monroe lay one _finger_ on me without it being my choice then you might as well get the hell out of my face!” After yelling at her mother who continued to stand there in shock, the tears continued to burn behind Charlie’s eyes but now she had her voice under control; keeping it as even as she could muster while refusing to back down.

                Rachel shook her head, trying to obtain the same level of control Charlie had just managed to gain. “N-No.” She muttered between sobs as her eyebrows furrowed in an attempt to challenge Charlie. With that, Charlie pushed past her mother and exited the tent, stomping as far away as she could before she let the tears she’d been holding back come spilling out. She wasn’t sure where to go as the cool Texan breeze chilled her to the bone as she passed several tents surrounding individual bonfires lit to keep the Rangers warm during the night. All Charlie knew was that she needed to stay somewhere until she was sure her mother had left her tent.

                Charlie walked wherever her feet led her and she didn’t even question it until she had to stop herself before mindlessly entering the tent in front of her. It wasn’t like Charlie was just about to enter some random tent; in fact, she knew _exactly_ who occupied this tent. She just wasn’t sure whether she wanted to see _him_ after all her mother confessed to her just minutes before. With a deep breath, Charlie decided to walk into the tent, hoping it was unoccupied and remained that way until she felt it was safe to walk back to her own to get some rest before tomorrow.

                But, of course, there _he_ was in all his glory; packing a shirt into his backpack while the one Charlie had assumed he was wearing just prior to giving it a good wash in the bucket near his bed was hanging up to dry with a set of other wet clothes. Monroe’s naked wet back gleamed in the fire light while the curls on his head were dripping wet with water running down his neck and Charlie found herself having a hard time trying to look away. It was obvious he had just washed himself before changing into some clean clothes.

                She wasn’t quite sure how to get his attention but Charlie knew she couldn’t just stand there, watching him. Looking at him through her swollen eyes which were red from crying just moments before, Charlie cleared her throat to grab his attention. She folded her arms while he picked up a shirt and turned to face her. Monroe didn’t say anything; he merely looked at her, holding the intense gaze they often communicated through. But, this time, Charlie couldn’t make out what he was trying to say to her and she was sure he felt the same because, after a few moments of staring at each other, Monroe slipped on a shirt and walked right past her, bumping her shoulder as he exited the tent.

                Charlie wasn’t sure what she had expected but she found herself slightly disappointed by what just happened. In a few strides, Charlie sat down on Monroe’s cot next to his backpack and all of its contents. She couldn’t put her finger on it but she felt comfortable in his tent; as if no judgments upon her character could be made here. But maybe that was just because Monroe wasn’t here and she was in the last place anyone would look for her. As she sat there, Charlie found herself eyeing Monroe’s backpack. She was a firm believer that the way someone packed and the contents of their bag said something about the person in question. Refusing to actually sift through the bag as that would be a complete violation of his privacy, Charlie opted to scan her eyes over what was in plain sight.

                She noted that Monroe had just a few articles of clothing neatly folded and stacked inside the bag while other of his own necessities were tucked around and placed quite carefully inside. This made Charlie scoff with amusement as she compared a mental image of her own backpack to his. She always packed like she didn’t have enough time to be meticulous about it; everything was just shoved in with no practicality or organization. Charlie always found herself lacking space for other things she needed to take with her on a trip which forced her to either unpack and shove everything back in with the idea of making more space or just leave things behind.

                After dragging her attention away from Monroe’s bag, Charlie decided that it was time to go back to her own tent. She came to the conclusion that Monroe probably chose to leave her alone and was, most likely, now waiting for her to leave his tent so he could go back to doing whatever it was he needed to get done. With a huff and a slight glimmer of disappointment that Monroe hadn’t come back, Charlie stood and left the comfort of the quiet tent so that she could return to her own which she only hoped was unoccupied and clear of her mother or anyone else that wanted to judge her or the content of her character. Though extremely exhausted from the emotional storm that seized her earlier, Charlie decided the best way to get her mind off of everything would be to continue reading the book hidden underneath her pillow. Still, even as she tried to keep her mind occupied on the point in the plot she had stopped reading at, her thoughts flickered to Monroe who seemed upsettingly adamant to steer clear of her.

                Of course, Charlie left too soon to witness Monroe’s reappearance at his tent with two bowls of supper that he left to retrieve for the two. Monroe knew better than anyone when Charlie was upset; he also knew that she must have been _really_ upset to show up at _his_ tent with a swollen face that indicated she had just finished crying. Charlie hated crying and despised it even more when she cried in front of other people; she’d much rather prefer to keep her emotions to herself. And, for some odd reason, this struck a sad chord within Monroe. He didn’t want to see her upset any more than she wanted to be. So, without a word or a thought, he left the tent to get her something to eat as he wasn’t sure she actually had dinner. Monroe didn’t know how to comfort people; he didn’t even know how to comfort himself. He only did the first thing that came to mind which was just to do something nice.

                Monroe wasn’t sure what he had been expecting to come out of this but he sure didn’t expect an empty tent. Standing there, holding two bowls of food, he felt like a complete idiot. It almost felt like he had just been stood up by a girl who agreed to go out on a date with him and that thought only made him feel more embarrassed. Placing one bowl on his cot with a soft clatter, Monroe exited the tent where several Rangers were gathered around a bonfire just a few feet away. Tapping the shoulder of the nearest one to grab their attention, he shoved the bowl of food in his hands and turned back to the tent. “Hey, thanks!” The Ranger called to Bass but the latter didn’t turn around. He just walked right into his tent where he ate his dinner and continued packing for what he knew would be an eventful trip.


	2. Late Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late Night by Foals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who read the first chapter! Your words of encouragement and interaction with this piece really warms my heart. It made me happy to know that you all enjoyed it. I really hope this next chapter is to your liking. :)

                Charlie knew she couldn’t have slept more than just a few meager hours but she was up before the crack of dawn to get going before her mother could attempt to stop her again. Maybe it was cruel behavior: wanting to leave without saying goodbye again. But Charlie couldn’t help but feel that leaving things the way they were after an argument was the best way to defuse the situation and get her point across to whoever was opposing her. Back in Wisconsin, she’d do this with her father all the time but she wouldn’t be gone for more than a few hours. You’d think she’d halt that behavior after all that had happened but Charlie continued on because it was the only way she knew how to handle it.

                It took her awhile to finally find Monroe after grabbing her backpack and abandoning her tent. It took so long, in fact, that it was already bright out. The sun gleamed brightly across the camp like a warm blanket; filling every tent with heat which greatly contrasted the chill of the previous night. Charlie had never had a particular preference for the cold or the heat. Growing up in a world where heaters and air conditioners were made redundant, she merely embraced whatever sort of weather hit her because that’s all she could do.

                Charlie’s eye caught something she never thought she’d see again as she reached the last of the endless tents. She stood just a few feet away from the edge of the camp, teetering the line which led into the forest, while she eyed the familiar faded blue trailer which filled the morning air with dull clangs as it was loaded with supplies; enough supplies to last the California bound travelers no more than two weeks. One of the horses bound to the trailer pawed at the ground nervously as the dull clanging seemed to irritate it. Whinnying softly, the creature caught the attention of the man who had been so focused on loading the supplies.

                Monroe stopped immediately, dropping a can of beans back into the box by his feet. At first, Charlie believed he might get aggressive with the nervous creature. But as she watched him round the trailer and approach the horse with great care, she found herself pleasantly surprised by the scene she’d been given the good fortune to witness. Leaning against its side, Monroe’s mouth moved slowly as he gently ran his hand down the horse’s neck while his other hand was pressed against the animal’s nose. Charlie was in awe by his uncharacteristic tenderness when handling the animal that often terrified Charlie herself.

                Despite living in a world without power, where everything had seemed to flashback to simpler times, Charlie found herself wary around the only source of transportation that was quicker than walking in this blacked out universe. The idea of having to ride a horse, though she’d never admit it, scared Charlie. She’d only ever rode one while living in Wisconsin before being unceremoniously thrown off, dislocating her shoulder in the process when she impacted with the ground. Charlie remembered her father warning her away from Snips after she tried begging him to let her ride the dapple gray horse. He claimed Snips was too high strung and unpredictable to handle an inexperienced rider like her. But Charlie being Charlie decided that no challenge was too great for her. So she mounted that horse in the middle of the night after sneaking out of the house and completely ate it (the ground that is). Charlie always insisted she was fearless but she couldn’t deny the nerves that stood on end if she got too close to a horse.

                Monroe, who had just finished calming their other traveling companion down, now made his way back to the opening of the trailer. By this time, Charlie realized she had been watching him for more than enough time but couldn’t help standing there in silence for just a bit longer as her eye caught the muscles moving underneath his sun-kissed skin as he began working his arms again by loading what was left in the box onto the trailer. A light sheen of sweat coated his neck, glistening in the light cascading down between the leaves of the trees looming over the trailer they had hijacked so many months ago when Charlie had still wanted his head on a stick. Now look at where they were; Charlie embarrassingly admiring from afar with Monroe none the wiser to her current thoughts or whereabouts.

Usually, Monroe was much more aware of his surroundings; it was difficult to sneak up on him with how observant he was. But, in this moment, his mind was preoccupied with the complete intention of dispelling the thoughts he so desperately craved weren’t his own. If Monroe didn’t actively control himself through some sort of physical activity or something that was all consuming, his mind would cruelly alternate between the painful thoughts of his son to the forbidden thoughts of Charlie. Because of this, Monroe wasn’t exactly sure how he’d handle himself on this trip to California with one of the two people he didn’t want to think about joining him for the ride.

Charlie now decided to make her presence known by slowly approaching an active Monroe. With slight hesitation, she greeted, “Hey.” She didn’t understand why she felt it was the lamest thing she could’ve come up with but what’s done was done and it was too late to rethink a different conversation starter. Also, she couldn’t exactly be too hard on herself since it was the first time they’d verbally spoken in quite a while. The most communication between the two would occur through gazes and glances; they both just understood each other with no words having to be spoken.

Monroe didn’t even spare her a glance despite his motions slowing due to her presence. Instead, with a slight coldness to his voice, he responded, “Hey, yourself.” This reply caused Charlie to grip the handle of her bag as she recognized the wall he was throwing up between them; a wall she was all too familiar with. Because of his attitude, Charlie wasn’t exactly sure where to take this conversation. What did they really have in common that she could mention?

Desperately wanting to close the awkward gap in their conversation, Charlie said the first thing that came to mind. “So, have you heard from Connor?” She asked, now squinting in the sunlight which transitioned from a soft glow to a striking ray. She felt like it was an appropriate question to ask due to her own inner curiosity on what had happened to the younger Monroe; Charlie was completely unaware of the last interaction father and son had.

But she soon realized it was the last thing she should’ve asked as Monroe’s movements now became much more aggressive as he seemed to toss the rest of the supplies into the trailer. “Why do you care?” He bit back with bitterness clouding his voice. This was the last thing Monroe needed; his two most lethal thoughts weighing in on his head and completely frustrating him. But other than the fact they were being brought up despite his efforts, Monroe couldn’t help but feel that familiar tinge of jealousy whenever the aspect of Connor and Charlie were brought up. It was common knowledge he disproved of whatever relationship the two shared but Monroe would never reveal the exact reason it riled him up.

“I don’t,” Charlie informed him and Monroe couldn’t help but stir at the sound of honesty in the cool tone she was trying to mirror. “But you do.” With the placement of the final item left to be loaded, Monroe turned to face Charlie, trying to keep his eyes locked with hers rather than allow them to take in every inch of her body. The intensity of their gazes would be enough foreplay if he chose to act on his desires but, instead, they both allowed the tension to build up to a point that would drive any sane person completely crazy. Hell, it drove Monroe insane just standing there. But he knew his limits and he wasn’t quite sure if Charlie would ever reciprocate the sort of passion he held deep within himself. She was untouchable and it made him ache all over.

“Oh, so now you care about my feelings?” Monroe replied sarcastically, attempting to defuse whatever emotions were passing back and forth between them by putting up a wall of passive-aggression. If he was a logical person, he’d let her gaze go. But Monroe wasn’t logical; he was prideful and insanely stubborn. He would not back down even if it meant risking embarrassment and messing his pants in front of his best friend’s niece. _That’s it, Bass,_ Monroe thought to himself as the two stood there in silence, their standoff more painful every minute they continued on which made it harder to keep himself under control. _That is your_ best friend’s _niece; mini-Miles. The Matheson that’s more of a pain in the ass than Miles himself._

Charlie seemed to gravitate closer to him, trying to keep her own mind under control as the tension continued to build at a gradual rate. As much as she wished it weren’t so, Charlie’s skin slowly burned when Monroe looked at her. It was something she wanted to explain to herself without coming to the conclusion that there was something between the two. “We’re friends, aren’t we?” Charlie inquired since there was a part of her that desperately wanted to know how to classify their odd relationship. She hoped he thought _something_ of her rather than just some pain in the ass that he was forced to be with when a situation arose.

Then, Monroe’s face broke. His nonchalant expression faltered into something that depicted some glimmer of sadness; some hidden pain he was trying to bury beneath his cool bravado. Though it was clear Charlie had won this standoff, she almost regretted seeing the expression n Monroe’s face. So, rather than silently congratulate herself on her victory, she pondered on why he broke that way. “I don’t want to be your friend, Charlotte.” He told her, making her heart drop out of her chest as she felt the wall come back up between them.

Charlie wanted to push that wall down; she wanted to completely demolish it. The concrete between them had filled her with this frustration she couldn’t explain nor did she feel compelled to control. Charlie felt this connection to Monroe that she’d never experienced with anyone else. So many people have come and gone in her life; some of the ones who could come back did but it was so rare and most of them spent half of their time thinking that they were entitled to her. Her mother left and thought that she could still claim to know what was best for her daughter when she came back. Jason and she were forced apart but he didn’t even come looking for her. And when their paths crossed again, Jason thought he was entitled to Charlie’s previous feelings for him; to her trust. Then, she was forced to kill him and it broke her so deeply that the only choice she had was to repair herself. Even Aaron left for some time and, when he came back, he was too preoccupied with Priscilla and whatever other nano crap was happening.

Miles wasn’t dead and he never left her (except for the one time he attempted it); in fact, she had left him and her mother all on their own. But, other than Miles, the only other person that she could say was always there for her was Monroe. She had come to the conclusion that walking away on your own; leaving other people was less painful than vice versa. Charlie walked away from Monroe the second she realized he gave her that choice. But he followed her and then he rescued her from a situation she had been so sure she could handle herself previously. Monroe stuck with her even when she gave him an opening to dump her ass in the middle of nowhere after telling him exactly where Miles and Rachel were but he still stuck with her despite all the attempts she made at killing him.

Looking at Monroe, Charlie always remembered how he came back after abandoning her in the school when they went to rescue Aaron. _He came back._ She had thought the moment she laid eyes on him. No one ever came back unless they had something to claim from her. Monroe had no attachment; he had no reason to come back. He came back because he wanted to. This was what separated him from everyone else and this was why Charlie felt so drawn to him.

Charlie hadn’t realized how close she was to Monroe until she was achingly aware of the heat irradiating from his body; she could feel his shallow breath hitting her face. “What do you want then, _Bass_?” Charlie questioned, her eyes still locked with his but her voice faltering in its coolness and revealing her curiosity as it really was an honest question for her. The use of his nickname seemed to affect Monroe in some way as his body shuddered when she said it. It sounded so intimate escaping her lips that he wasn’t quite sure how to handle it just like Charlie wasn’t quite sure where it came from.

Nothing after that was said; instead, Monroe turned away from her and rounded the trailer before mounting the driver’s side. With a heavy sigh, Charlie threw her bag into the trailer, her crossbow held firmly in her hand as she shut the door and slid the bolt shut. Climbing up into the passenger side of the trailer, she eyed the two horses bound to their wagon. Monroe seemed to catch this because, just before he spurred the horses into motion, he informed Charlie, “The one on the left is Spartan. He’s kind of nervous but won’t act up as long as he’s got Lulu here to keep him in check. Ain’t that right, Lulu?”

As if she understood him, Lulu let out a soft whinny and, with that, Monroe set them in motion through the woods on a path that had been marked off by all the previous wagons that have gone through the same set of trees. Charlie leaned back, her crossbow between her knees as her eyes wandered around the forest now engulfing them. “I had no idea that in addition to being a tyrant you were also a horse whisperer.” Charlie mocked, now settling on watching the horses’ bodies sway as they walked on.

Monroe didn’t chuckle or show any sign of amusement except for the small gleam in his eye that he got when someone engaged him in witty banter. “Well, everyone knows that any good tyrant needs a good horse.” He replied dryly. “Though I’d like to say it’s a gift, I have to be honest and say it’s an acquired skill.” Charlie’s only response was a slight hum. They weren’t even ten minutes into this trip and it was already settling into complete silence. It was a good thing Monroe had chosen to man the wagon as he was sure he’d be bored out of his mind if he were in Charlie’s position.

It was after about an hour or so of complete silence that Charlie wished she’d brought her book up to the front with her. She thought she’d have to focus entirely on watching their surroundings for potential threats but, after a while, she realized exactly why Monroe had chosen this path. They were deep within the woods on a makeshift road only used by the Texas Rangers. What wandering Patriots were dumb enough to use this path or even scout it out? But being occupied with that wasn’t the only other reason she avoided bringing her book with her; Charlie just didn’t want Monroe questioning her on what she was reading.

The subject matter of the novel she found herself having an affair with along the love/hate variety was of a controversial topic she wasn’t sure she wanted to discuss with Monroe or anyone for that matter. When Miles had come across her nose deep in it, Charlie did everything she could to take his attention off it just so he wouldn’t press her on about it. To this moment, Charlie isn’t exactly sure what made her pick up that particular book when she came across the abandoned cabin in the woods which had been fashioned into a library. Maybe it was the controversial topic or maybe it was just the poetic language it used to cover up a disturbing idea. Either way, Charlie found herself embarrassed to actually be enjoying the book’s aesthetic appeal.

“Hey,” Monroe grumbled, catching Charlie’s attention and ripping her away from her wandering thoughts about the novel burning a hole in her backpack. Turning her head to look at him, she observed the way his eyes wandered above Spartan and Lulu’s heads. “I spy with my little eye something green.” Charlie raised an eyebrow at him, wondering if he was being serious or if he was just trying to make a joke. But Monroe’s expression gave no hint to which he was getting at; he didn’t even look at Charlie.

So, she humored him and looked straight ahead rather than staring at the side of his face the whole damn time. “Tree leaves.” Charlie replied in a straightforward manner. Monroe chuckled very silently, stirring up a strange emotion within Charlie. “Wow, you’re good at this.” He mocked, giving Charlie a small grin which she could see in her peripheral vision. “Your turn.” Slightly enjoying this silent joke they seemed to be creating, Charlie looked around as if trying really hard to find something to counter him with.

Her eyes landed on the brown coat of Lulu who moved along in front of Monroe on the right. With a tiny smirk, Charlie looked up at the sky visible between the tall trees. “I spy with my little eye –” She began before looking at the side of Monroe’s face to see his expression. “– something brown.” His face twisted in a sort of feigned confusion which made the corner of Charlie’s mouth tilt upward ever so slightly. “Hmm,” Monroe mumbled, scratching his chin now in thought as he looked down at the ground. “Dirt, right?”

This actually made Charlie scoff lightly, her lips pulling across her teeth in a more apparent smile. “Nope.” Charlie replied which forced him to look at her straight on. His face transitioned from subtle shock to a silly sort of humiliation. “No way, you’re lying.” Monroe stated with a grin playing on his face. Charlie laughed aloud and shook her head at him. “I’m not! I’m serious.” She insisted. “It wasn’t dirt.” Monroe shook his head, smiling now as he pulled at the reigns in his hands slightly to keep the horses on the path after they strayed off to the right a bit. Now he began looking around; even looking behind him at places they’ve just passed to see if she caught something he didn’t.

“Okay, what the hell.” He mumbled, giving up on his search. “What was it?” Charlie’s wide smile fell to a small smirk as she flicked her eyes over to Lulu. Monroe didn’t catch on at first; he just kind of looked between Charlie’s lips and eyes before realizing she was indicating the object she had been referring to previously. When Monroe’s eyes trailed to Lulu, he wanted to stop the whole damn caravan in its tracks but instead he just laughed at himself after exclaiming, “Oh, what the hell! Are you kidding me?” This reaction made Charlie bust out laughing as she watched the disbelief cross his face.

Monroe had to admit, he was slightly humiliated. It was embarrassing that he initiated a game just to mock the situation the two were in yet he lost that very game. _How ironic._ He thought, still grinning from the whole ordeal. He expected Charlie to calm down after it blew over but he was surprised to find that she was still laughing even after he’d already gotten over it. Watching her in a fit of pure enjoyment made Monroe begin laughing again too despite not really knowing what was so amusing about it. He thought maybe she was laughing to escape their previous tension but she could’ve also been laughing just because she was easily excitable. Of course, Monroe didn’t really believe the latter as he’d never seen Charlie laugh before.

Charlie wasn’t exactly sure why she couldn’t stop laughing either. Maybe it was the fact that she had just witnessed one of the scariest men alive mess up on a game of “I Spy” or maybe she just enjoyed the fact she pulled on over on him. Either way, it was nice to laugh for once in such a long time since her life had taken such a dramatic turn. It seemed almost ironic how the man who turned her world upside down was the man currently making her ribs tough from laughing so hard. Sometimes Charlie had a hard time remembering exactly who he was but there was a small part of her that didn’t _want_ to remember all the things he’d done. Monroe wasn’t a bad man; he was a sad man.

Taking a deep breath, Charlie finally calmed down enough to sit still on the bench both were mounted on. Monroe was smiling from ear to ear and she might have realized it was his expression knocking the wind out of her if she hadn’t already been trying to catch her breath from her fit. He looked completely foreign to Charlie; he looked like the type of man she could find herself falling in love with if she wasn’t convinced that was a completely ridiculous notion.

*** * ***

                They had covered a lot of ground in the three days they’d been travelling up from Austin toward what used to be Oklahoma. Things had been quiet which was surprising to the two who seemed to constantly find themselves in some sort of compromising situation. Despite the quiet, they were on an edge where they believed something would pop out at them if given the opportunity where their guards were down. But, even as they laid out sleeping bags near the open fire Monroe had just struck up, everything was abnormally silent; especially between them.

                After that first day on the road, the two hadn’t spoken one word to each other unless it was completely necessary. Neither was sure why they weren’t speaking but both were too stubborn to be the first to speak up after going so long in silence. That is until Monroe decided it would be a good idea to question Charlie about the book sticking halfway out of her backpack. He had seen her consumed by the tattered novel as they travelled and even when she was on lookout while he was supposed to be asleep. The worn cover struck him as familiar but he couldn’t quite make out the title unless he had the guts to snatch it out of her hands and really look at it.

                “What’s that you’re reading?” Monroe asked, standing near the back of the trailer after closing it up and now pointing at the book with his knife from across the fire burning brightly. Charlie looked up from the rabbit she was currently skinning to add to the stew they had cooking, her face completely blank of any emotion. Raising a brow, she gave him a slight smile but not one of good nature; it was a sarcastic smile. “None of your damn business.” She seemed to whisper coldly, that smile still on her lips.

                Monroe nodded his head and raised his brows, unsure of how to respond to this passive hostility she was putting across. “Well, sorry,” Monroe replied, putting his hands up in defense. “Didn’t mean to insult you.” Shaking his head, he settled down on his sleeping bag before dropping his knife to the ground near his feet and mixing the stew with the ladle inside the pot above the fire. “Is that rabbit almost ready?” He inquired, his stomach growling silently as he got a whiff of the broth boiling. “I could eat both Lulu and Spartan with how hungry I am.”

                Charlie didn’t say anything nor did she spare him a glance. Instead, she tore pieces of rabbit meat off the bone of the carcass then flicked them into the pot in front of her despite the jerk in her stomach she felt as the smell of the stew intensified. Completely aware of Monroe watching her from across the fire, Charlie desperately tried to distract herself from staring right back at him. This was hard for her to do as she could see the motion of his mouth as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip. It was proving to more difficult to resist Monroe than Charlie originally thought.

                Using the hide of the rabbit to hold whatever remains of the creature were left after she picked it apart, Charlie stood up, her stomach churning oddly as she did, and walked a few feet away from the camp so that she could leave the remnants of her game to the birds. She came back to their camp, palms out and covered in rabbit blood. Grabbing his attention with her sudden pause in movement, Charlie glanced at a canteen of water next to the fire. “Mind helping me out?” She grumbled, locking eyes with him as he sat there staring at her.

                Monroe didn’t respond as he got to his feet, picked up the canteen, and strolled toward her. He kept his eyes on the canteen as he unscrewed the cap while she flashed her eyes back and forth between the canteen and his face. Monroe poured the water over Charlie’s hands as she scrubbed them together gently to rinse off the blood. It was strange how quiet it got between the two despite them travelling in silence for three days as Monroe tried to keep himself from reaching for her hands and massaging them with his own to help her wash away the grime. It was a strange and intimate idea that had crossed his mind; something he’d do for a lover. _Keep it together, you loser._ He warned himself internally as Charlie now pulled her hands back and shook the water off.

                Neither of them moved but only one was looking at the other and that was Charlie. She watched Monroe turn his body away from her ever so slightly as he kept his eyes locked on the cap of the canteen he was currently screwing shut. Patting her damp hands on her jeans, Charlie cleared her throat to grab his attention. Monroe looked up; cerulean eyes grabbing her own as he reacted to the sound she had made. With a raise of her brow, she nodded toward the stew. “It should be ready in a few minutes.” Charlie informed him, a smile reaching her eyes but not gracing her mouth. “Just thought you should know before you actually consider eating Lulu and Spartan.”

                It seemed to take him a moment to register exactly what she had been saying as he didn’t react until a few seconds later when his face broke into a boyish grin, laughing in the similar fashion he did the morning she awoke tied up with him in the empty pool so many months ago; just before he told her how similar she was to her mother to hurt her. This display of joy confused Charlie as she mostly tied the alien expression he was exhibiting with that moment but she was also aware that it was Monroe expressing _actual_ amusement. It made her stomach flip with a level of intensity she’d never felt before while her heart began to palpitate. She couldn’t explain why she felt this way mostly because she wasn’t quite ready to admit that she liked seeing him enjoy himself.

                Monroe looked at Charlie, still beaming from ear to ear as she passed him to return to her spot by the fire. Following her lead, Monroe went over to his own sleeping bag where he retrieved two bowls to spoon some of the stew into. His smile had vanished, decimated by the coldness seeming to flow from Charlie now despite the warmth she shared just minutes before. It was starting to irritate Bass how quickly her moods were changing. _I thought I was supposed to be the moody one._ He thought, placing one bowl on the ground while he gripped the other firmly in his hand, leaning over the fire with a rag now in his free hand so he could remove the pot from its place without burning his hand.

                Giving a quick stir with the ladle after placing it on the grassy forest floor, Bass filled the bowl in his hand with the rabbit stew before dropping the ladle back into the pot and stepping over toward Charlie who had her arms wrapped around her knees as she stared off into space. Rather than grab the bowl immediately, Bass observed, Charlie seemed to glare at it like he was handing her a dead snake. “Just take the damn bowl, Charlie.” Bass muttered with frustration as his patience was now wearing thin. Why was she acting this way? _Is this how people feel around me?_ Bass wondered internally, thinking that he should start writing apology letters if that were the case.

                Charlie grabbed the bowl reluctantly, looking down at the contents before glancing up at Monroe’s face. “I could’ve served myself.” She claimed, no particular emotion behind it except for her cold nonchalance. As Charlie leaned over toward the side of the fire where all of their cooking supplies were lying around to grab a spoon, Bass raised his hands in irritation before turning away from her to serve himself. “If I knew you’d be such a pain in the ass about it, I would’ve let you.” He told her, grabbing his own bowl to serve himself. “Some appreciation would be nice for once.”

                The minute he had the bowl of hot stew in his hands, Bass had to resist shoving his face into it. He hadn’t eaten all day due to all of his focus being centered on his thoughts to entertain himself as the day had worn on with nothing interesting to note. It had been pretty clear Charlie did not feel inclined to try and entertain him so he took it upon himself to do what he usually did when he had nothing better to do and no privacy to handle himself: daydream.

                His daydreams weren't particularly always the same subject matter. Sometimes it was as simple as thinking about what his life would be like if the blackout hadn’t occurred while other times it was of racier things. Since Monroe didn’t feel particularly compelled to embarrass himself in front of Charlie who was already being hot and cold with him, he definitely did not think about the latter in the silent three days they’d just gone through. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t quite remember what dream clouded his thoughts and kept him occupied earlier that day; it was constantly changing just like his mind was always in motion.

                It had been a while of silence between Charlie and Bass before she finally spoke up. “What makes you think you deserve any appreciation?” Charlie asked, surprising him with how late her response was to his remark. Monroe looked up from his food and saw that Charlie hadn’t even had more than a bite of her meal but he was too focused on her words than all the other tiny details surrounding her. “What?” He responded though he knew exactly what she had asked him.

                A flash of guilt crossed her face before it settled back on her previous emotionless quality. Charlie shook her head and looked down into her bowl. “Nothing.” She mumbled, now appearing a bit pale to Bass. “I’m just, um –” Charlie now put down her bowl and stood up, wobbling a bit as she did which concerned Monroe. Placing his own food down, he began to get onto his feet, looking at her face as it twisted in pain. “Hey, are you okay?” He asked her just before she began to hug herself and step a little closer to the rest of the woods around them.

                Charlie opened her mouth to insist she was fine but, instead of words, she chucked up stomach acid all over the dark soil of the forest ground. Bass reached out for her, placing one hand on her shoulder and the other on her hip to steady her as she bent over and vomited the contents of her stomach. The night air was now filled with the smell of bile and the sounds of Charlie throwing up but Bass wasn’t fazed by either of those things. Instead, he pulled her hair back into the hand that had been gripping her shoulder so that it wouldn’t get in the way. “That’s it.” He encouraged, patting her hip as he did. “Just let it out.”

                It came to a point where nothing was coming out of Charlie’s mouth and she was just spitting the awful taste of acid out onto the ground. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, Charlie coughed a bit in reaction to the oxygen now filling her lungs and the horrible taste in her mouth. She turned to Monroe, sliding her wrist across her mouth as he released her hair but kept a hand firmly on her hip. “I’m so sorry.” She apologized before coughing again, honestly embarrassed about what had just happened.

                Bass shook his head, using his free hand to rub her shoulder. “It’s okay. Come on.” He shushed her, turning himself to lead her back to her sleeping bag. “There’s no need to apologize.” Charlie laid down and wrapped herself in her sleeping bag, shivering despite the warm fire so close to the two. Bass was crouched down next to her, a hand pressed against her forehead before moving down to her neck. “You’re burning up.” He informed her, really observing her current state. “Did you feel nauseous earlier today?” Charlie closed her eyes partially, swallowing back the disgusting taste in her mouth. It was almost as if it was too much effort for her to speak as she simply nodded and attempted to add, “That’s why I haven’t eaten all day.”

                Taking a moment to assess the situation, Bass leaned back a bit as he found himself upset by how miserable Charlie looked. “Hate to break it to you but,” He began as he made his assumption on what was ailing her. “it looks like you’ve got a stomach virus.” Charlie groaned, burying her face into the sleeping bag. Bass got back onto his feet and grabbed some water to place by her head. “Most important thing is to stay hydrated. It might be a little while before you can actually hold down the water but try to drink as much as you can.” Bass walked over to the wagon and opened the back of the trailer to search through their medical kit. After pawing at several different bottles of medication, he found the one he was looking for labeled as ibuprofen. Popping the cap, Bass retrieved two small pills from the bottle and held it in his palm before walking back over to Charlie who was now sitting up and attempting to drink some water.

                He crouched down next to Charlie, looking at her pale face as he held out the two pills in his palm. “These should make your fever go down.” Bass told her, watching as she slowly took the pills from his hand. Placing each pill on her tongue, Bass watched Charlie struggle with getting the pills down her throat and it forced him to tear his eyes away from her. He _hated_ seeing her so miserable. With each sip of water she took, her stomach threatened to push it back up as she gagged. Bass knew that they’d have to keep moving tomorrow whether she recovered or not so he reached the conclusion that he would let her sleep the full night to get her rest. He didn’t sleep very well anymore anyway so what difference did it make?

                “Alright,” Bass whispered, taking the canteen from her hands as he gave her a sincere look of concern. “I think it’s best you get some sleep. I’ll keep watch so don’t worry about it.” Charlie looked at him through hazy and half-closed eyes as she refused to lie down in her sleeping bag to challenge him. “But what about you?” She questioned with a slur. “You need some sleep too.” The spark within Charlie that Monroe secretly admired was still intact despite her current state and it brought a small grin to his face as he watched her trying to fight the urge to sleep.

                Bass didn’t respond; he just stood up to his feet to clean up around the camp while Charlie slowly lied down and watched his every move. The flicker of the flames from the camp fire next to her created a warm light across his moving figure which made her feel strangely comfortable. Her feeling of ease versus whatever unease had been (or, in this case, currently was) gnawing at her was comparable to the comfort she felt while bathed in candlelight as she sat in his tent back in Austin. Charlie found it easy to let her guard down as her eyes slowly closed just as he lowered himself onto his own sleeping bag, watching her nod off in the process.

*** * ***

                Charlie could have slept for a few hours more if her mouth hadn’t been so dry upon waking up to the sound of birds chirping loudly nearby. She sat up, opening her dry eyes to muted sunshine as she tried to make out shapes and figures with her blurry vision. Her stomach flipped painfully but it was less brutal compared to how it had been throughout the night. Charlie recalled waking up at least twice due to retching and each time Monroe had been there with an empty bucket ready for her to empty her stomach into. She wasn’t quite sure whether she made use of the bucket or not as everything kind of blurred together in her mind. The only thing she could be sure about was the feeling of Monroe’s hand on her shoulder and in her hair, supporting her through this unexpected situation.

                As she regained her vision, Charlie spotted the canteen from last night next to her. She picked it up and was surprised to see that it had been refilled as she unscrewed the cap to chug the water down. Charlie’s stomach churned as the water touched down with the only contents left there which was her stomach acid. But, despite the pain still evident, she found herself able to drink without gagging which relieved her. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could go on with a dry tongue.

                Charlie had been so focused on quenching her thirst, she hadn’t realized that everything aside from her sleeping bag had been packed up and ready to go. Looking around the small camp in the daylight, Charlie was finally able to spot the lean figure she had been searching for. She wasn’t sure how she could miss him as he seemed to be standing right before her eyes but Charlie wasn’t exactly the poster child for complete focus at the moment.

                Monroe was shifting things around the inside of the trailer, Spartan and Lulu munching the grass below their hooves as he did. When he turned around, giving Charlie a view of his face, she saw that there were bags under his eyes indicating he could use at least a few hours of sleep. This made Charlie feel guilty beyond belief. If she hadn’t been sick, Monroe would have gotten his time to rest. It was all her fault and she wasn’t sure what she could do to make it right.

                “Morning.” Monroe said with no particular expression on his face as he locked eyes with Charlie. “How are you holding up?” Charlie cleared her throat and got onto her feet slowly to begin packing away her own things into the trailer. But before she could even bend down to pick up her sleeping bag, Monroe was at her side, picking up the fabric himself. Charlie just watched as he rolled it up and stuck it under his arm before she turned to pick up her backpack off of the ground. Again, Monroe snatched it up before she could even wrap her fingers around it. She looked him straight in the eye, trying to portray her annoyance without giving off that this behavior was actually flattering her at the same time.

                “Seriously?” Charlie commented, watching as he tilted his head slightly and met her gaze with something that said it was impossible to argue with him at the moment. Monroe walked back over to their caravan, Charlie following closely. As he tossed the last items into the trailer and shut the door, Charlie just observed him, guilt gnawing through her as she watched his tired face. Her back was now against the trailer as he tried to round the wagon so that they could be on their way but her voice grabbed his attention, causing him to stop in his tracks. “I’m sorry.” She told him, the guilt showing on her face by means of a frown.

                Monroe gaped at her, unsure of how to respond to her completely unnecessary apology. “You- You don’t need to apologize.” He replied, slightly stuttering over the sentence. Monroe hoped that his response would be sufficient enough to discourage her from feeling guilty about anything completely out of her control but then her voice caught him in his retreat once again. “No, I do.” Charlie insisted, clearing her throat before she went on with her explanation. God, she really hated apologizing but she couldn’t deny her guilt any longer. “I wasn’t feeling too good yesterday and it put me in a bad mood which I took out on you. So, I’m sorry.”

“Listen, Charlie, you don’t have to–”

“Yes, I do because now you’re probably exhausted from having to take care of me all night. You could have gotten some sleep but, instead, I got sick and you were there for me and I–”

                Charlie was cut off by Monroe’s body pinning hers against the trailer. They weren’t actually touching but he was so close that Charlie could have wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. His arms were pressed against the trailer by the sides of her head while she kept her own pressed flat against her body. She wasn’t scared of him but she was slightly shocked by his abrupt reaction. They were nose to nose while Monroe gave her a stern glare. It was obvious he was restraining himself from doing something to her. Charlie assumed he wanted to hit her; slap her to shut her up after he’d asked her so many times to stop talking.

                But, if Charlie could read Monroe’s thoughts, she’d be surprised to discover that he actually just wanted to cover her mouth with his own and kiss her until she forgot what her name was. She was being so stupid; so completely and uncharacteristically stupid. Monroe didn’t want her apology because Charlie had no reason to make one. Losing a night of sleep was the least he could do for her and she had no reason to feel guilty about it as it was his pleasure to take care of the girl who always had her own back because no one else bothered to realize that, despite her independence, sometimes she needed someone else to hold her hand when things got rough rather than just put on another brave face.

                Monroe held Charlie’s gaze and did everything he could to keep himself under control. The urge to kiss her had never been stronger and he wasn’t sure if he would be able to restrain himself if a situation like this occurred again. He was losing his damn mind, that was for sure and, as he observed her face, Monroe was sure Charlie thought the same which encouraged him to back away from her. “Sorry.” He whispered to her, moving his eyes away from hers in shame. Monroe wanted to apologize more than just the one time but he couldn’t bring himself to it as he feared she would see him for what he truly was: pathetic and weak and just a little bit in love with her.

                So, he turned his back on her and mounted the wagon, ready to set the horses in motion. It was a few minutes before Charlie climbed onto the wagon next to him. Luckily, she was sitting to Monroe’s left so he couldn’t see her in his peripheral vision. After what had just happened, he didn’t think he could bear to see her expression if her eyes were to land on the side of face. As if Monroe wasn’t broken enough, if he even saw a glimmer of hatred or indifference toward him at this point, he wasn’t sure how he could make his way back from that.

                But all of these thoughts and feelings died down as the morning continued. Bass shoved that darkness toward the back of his mind, his face completely free of previous emotions. Well, except for exhaustion. Bass was tired; he desperately wanted to lie down somewhere and nap for a little while but they had to continue onward. Though driving a wagon wasn’t difficult, he didn’t want to push that task on Charlie who he assumed knew nothing of it.

                Charlie caught on to Monroe’s exhaustion as that tiny shred of guilt which survived their previous interaction crept along her skin. Turning her head to look at him, Charlie positioned her hand, palm out, toward Monroe. “Give me the reigns and take a nap.” She ordered as she saw him glance at her in her peripheral vision. Monroe merely scoffed then shook his head. “I’m fine.” He insisted but Charlie wasn’t buying it.

                “Give me the damn reigns, Bass.” Charlie demanded again, unsure of whether or not she had the right to call him by his nickname. Monroe didn’t say anything nor did he jump at her for using his nickname again. He simply looked at Charlie and handed her the reigns. Monroe stared at her for a while as she seemed to have no trouble handling the horses before uttering a silent, “Thanks.” A token of gratitude was definitely something she thought she’d never see from Bass and it made her happy knowing that she was doing something nice for him in return.

                Patting her own shoulder, Charlie leaned back and got into a comfortable position before giving Bass another look. It seemed the two were back on each other’s wavelengths because Bass needed no verbal confirmation to know exactly what Charlie was offering. Instead, he leaned back as far as he could on the bench before resting his head against her shoulder. Charlie felt it was the least she could’ve done after all he did to take care of her the night before and she would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy having that sort of connection with him as he seemed to doze off almost immediately after he’d gotten into a comfortable position. He deserved this; he deserved her appreciation.


	3. Providence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Providence by Foals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading and I'm sorry for the delay. I got massively stumped but I've found my way.  
> (oh shit, that rhymed. #yaaassss)

                Miles always preferred traveling on his own mostly because he knew his own strengths and limitations; he could get in and out of places quick. This proved handy when things went wrong and shit got tough. Though he could work with others (and found himself constantly having to despite himself), Miles knew the only person who he could truly rely on was himself. It took him months, even years, to truly learn how other people worked. Not only did he need to know how they were in combat but he also needed simple knowledge on how a particular person functioned.

                This was the exact reason why Miles refused General Blanchard’s offer of a military escort toward the former Monroe Republic. Though Miles knew they’d come in handy if he were met with a Patriot front, he was also aware that he had to swiftly and stealthily get to the northeast. Having a military escort would have slowed him down dramatically and would have possibly intimidated any militia soldiers still wandering the Republic. Yes, Miles could do without the escort. All he needed was his sword and his horse, Woody.

                Blanchard threatened to send a battalion after him if he weren’t to return in two months’ time which would have been a ridiculously impossible time limit if Miles were someone else entirely. Luckily, Miles Matheson was who he was; a resourceful and natural navigator with a mild case of insomnia. Getting to and from places within a particular amount of time was what he did best. And, thanks to this ability, Miles managed his way across the border of Missouri into Illinois from Austin within a month. Now, who else could have managed that? Definitely not him if he had a military escort.

                _Don’t get a big head._ He thought to himself, the voice in his head taking on the vocal patterns of someone he’d rather not think about. Despite wanting to be completely free of him, Miles couldn’t deny that Bass still had some effect over him. They had been friends for so long; they’d been brothers. You couldn’t just rid yourself of whatever attachment you had to someone who had played such an important role in your life. So, it seemed futile to attempt to rid Bass from the position as his internal monologue. Miles just tried not to think about it and let it happen as if it was natural because, in a way, it was.

                Woody pawed at the ground nervously, whinnying lightly to grab his rider’s attention. Absentmindedly, Miles pat the young gelding’s neck to calm him as he scanned his eyes over the border he intended to cross just a few yards away. From his position, one carefully chosen for its strategic quality, he would be able to catch any sort of opposition that might be lying in wait before making the jump from the Plains Nation to the Monroe Republic. Though he was quite sure everyone was still scattered about the Republic after the bombs dropped, Miles knew that he could be surprised and didn’t want to take the unnecessary risk just because he _assumed_ something. Rome wasn’t built in a day and that was for sure; a year couldn’t possibly be enough to recollect the broken pieces of the Republic in its state of chaos, could it?

                Finally deciding that it would be safe for him to continue, Miles spurred Woody into a trot toward that invisible line between the two states. Disappearing from one wood into another, he kept completely alert so that he would be ready for any surprise that would launch itself at him. Of course, for the next few hours of riding through the forest of lining the border of Illinois, the only thing that changed in his surroundings were the amount of trees decreasing as Miles suspected he was nearing some sort of civilization; the first and last of many potential towns and/or cities if he wasn’t absolutely careful.

                Miles wasn’t quite sure what he expected as he approached the city of Carbondale which was surrounded by makeshift fences built to keep intruders out and not (he could only hope) the residents in as it had been when Willoughby was under Patriot control. Straying off the main road and off to the side where he could get a better look without being spotted himself, Miles eyed the open gates of Carbondale. He saw some movement by the gate from what he assumed were citizens of the city but nothing that would give away who was protecting those citizens.

                _Don’t be an idiot._ The voice in his head warned again as Miles thought of different ideas on how to approach this situation before landing on the dumbest solution a person could think of. _You can’t just waltz in there. Use your head._ Miles felt like a child being scolded; an indecisive novice being told off by his superior. “Get out of my head.” He muttered to himself, moving Woody back through the trees off the side of the road so that he could have some coverage while scouting out the city’s gate. Hoping off of Woody’s back, Miles tied his horse up to a tree before sidling along behind a line of abandoned cars strewn along the side of the road into Carbondale.

                With a closer view, he could see men and women in familiar blue uniforms walking along the top of the wall surrounding the city. Miles knew it the moment he spotted their attire; they were members of the Monroe Militia. These were the exact people he needed to rally up and convince to follow him into battle against the Patriots but Miles couldn’t help but feel a slice of cold fear slash across his skin as he looked at them. There was no solution that could ensure a positive outcome. He simply had to play it by ear and go with whatever wave of misfortune threatened to crash along the shoreline of his intentions.

                Before Miles could even reach the decision to just walk through the city gates, he heard the click of a gun in his ear and the growl of the woman on the other end of it. “Don’t fucking move.” She warned, causing Miles to eye her using his peripheral vision as he put his hands up. From what he could make out, the woman had flames for hair that seemed to contrast the blue of her uniform.  “I’m not here to hurt you.” Miles offered, turning slowly to face the guard with his hands still up. Her gun was pointed right at his face, forcing him to stare down the barrel before holding her gaze with his own.

                Freckles were sprinkled across her nose and cheeks, her hazel eyes visible through her hard glint. She couldn’t have been more than five foot one with how Miles loomed over her. After a minute of silence and rough glaring, a wave of recognition rippled along her face. “Wait a minute,” She said, her eyebrows easing apart as her face relaxed. “I know you. You’re Miles Matheson.” Much to Miles’ surprise, the guard lowered her weapon and offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that.” She told him. “I was just doing my job.”

                Though Miles shouldn’t have been shocked that someone in the Republic he helped build recognized him, he couldn’t stifle the feeling of being baffled. He wasn’t showing a trace of it on his own face because the last thing he wanted was to come across as easily impressed but Miles was thoroughly and genuinely surprised. Usually, the only people who remembered him were the ones he directly trained or had come across him due to special circumstances. This girl looked about Charlie’s age and couldn’t have been more than 15 or 16 years old when he attempted to assassinate Monroe.

                Clearing his throat, Miles nodded his head and continued about with his usual crassness. “Yeah, I get it.” He responded, placing a hand on the hilt of his sword with no intention of actually drawing it. “So, you know who I am. Great. Now who the hell are you?” The girl was completely unfazed by his rudeness; she simply squinted up at him in the bright sunshine and blocked the sun out by shading her eyes with one of her hands. “I’m Gunnery Sergeant Leslie Jenkins with the Providential Sovereignty.” She informed him so formally that he wouldn’t have been surprised if she had given him salutations.

                “A Gunny, huh?” Miles commented, looking back where he tied up Woody as he did. “You need to be really good at what you do to secure that rank.” Leslie nodded curtly, placing her hands on her hips as she followed his line of sight. “Go grab your horse, General.” The Gunny seemed to order, nodding her head in Woody’s direction. “We’ve got a lot to discuss.” Miles wasn’t sure what to expect after he retrieved Woody and followed Leslie toward the city gates of Carbondale. All he could consider was the fact he hadn’t been shot down by this young Sergeant when she recognized him and that meant he was useful. _The only thing you have to figure out now,_ His thoughts churned. _Is what exactly do they need you for?_

*******

                This was definitely the last thing Miles considered as he stood at the head of a round table surrounded by ex-members of the Monroe Militia. “So, what you’re telling me is,” Miles relayed, trying to wrap his head around the events of the past year for the fallen nation that had just been told to him within the last fifteen minutes. “this is no longer the Monroe Republic. It’s all been reclaimed by this – what is it?” Leslie’s superior, a dark skinned man with a traditional buzz cut and a singular scar running from his left ear down his neck who introduced himself as Captain Buckley Buchanan, stood before Miles with a prominent scowl. “The Providential Sovereignty.” Captain Buck muttered, repeating the name of the new nation for what seemed to be the hundredth time since Miles entered their office.

                “Right, whatever.” Miles responded with a wave of his hand, dismissing the aggravated Captain. Miles stayed silent for a moment, mulling over different strategies that would secure the allegiance of this new nation. “Okay, then.” He uttered, looking up at the personnel surrounding him. “Who do I address about securing a treaty with Texas?” No one answered him immediately. Instead, they all looked to Captain Buck who held onto his grimace firmly.

                Leslie cleared her throat, grabbing Miles’ attention. “President Koenig is in Rhode Island.” The Gunny stated, earning a stern glare from her superior that didn’t faze her as it was intended. “That was declared the new capital after…well, you know.” Leslie avoided mentioning the bombs dropping in Philly, a sadness creeping its way into the air surrounding them. It occurred to Miles that the nuclear attack was still a fresh wound and mentioning it only seemed to add insult to injury. But Miles was too preoccupied with the reveal of the Sovereignty’s new president to pussyfoot his way around that.

                “Wait,” Miles interrupted, looking between Captain Buck and the Gunny. “Are you talking about Michael Koenig? Mike’s the new president?” Leslie smiled a bit, sadness still an obvious tone in her demeanor. Mike had been a good friend of Miles for many years. They met when the Monroe Republic had just occupied Rhode Island. He continued to be loyal even when the Republic’s good intentions got lost along its rapid rise to power. The idea of seeing Mike again after the many years it had been since they’d last spoken filled Miles with a particular joy.

                Due to this excitement, Miles hadn’t noticed how glum the personnel seemed at the mention of Michael’s name. “Well, no,” Leslie finally answered. “Our president is _Elsa_ Koenig.” Miles eyed the redhead curiously upon hearing the familiar name. Elsa was Mike’s wife; a kind Scandinavian woman who was constantly advocating for more freedom after the Republic’s policies became stricter than intended. _Of course._ Bass’ voice echoed, completely annoyed by the notion as he never had any soft spots for Elsa. _It would be her._

                Leslie had ceased to speak which irritated Miles who could see there was something that she wasn’t revealing. “Can you spit it out?” Miles demanded, aggravated. “Whatever you have to tell me, you might as well just do it so I can do what I came here to do. I haven’t got the time for this.” It wasn’t Leslie who continued on; it was Captain Buck who moved himself in front of Leslie after Miles’ aggressive outburst. “Michael Koenig led a rescue mission in Philly after the bombs dropped.” Captain Buck explained, his gaze steely but no longer framing a scowl. “There weren’t many survivors but he insisted on going back in case they missed anyone. He died from radiation poisoning two months ago.”

                The world seemed to fall out of orbit as Miles was struck with that news. _Damn._ It was something so upsetting for him to hear after being given this shred of hope that he would be able to meet an old friend again. But Miles couldn’t let that get to him. He had to continue on with this mission as it was important in their fight against the Patriots. So, whatever sadness or grief he should have been allowed to feel, Miles swept it aside to visit later when all of this was over.

                Miles sighed and nodded his head, swallowing back whatever feelings he’d mull over when it was time. “Alright then,” He concluded, giving Captain Buck a firm look. “It’s about time I visit President Koenig.” Expecting them to tell him where she was, Miles waited for their input before watching them look at each other again. “Come on, you guys.” He urged, really starting to get fed up with the hesitation of this group. “Give me a break. Let’s get past this odd silence and just get one with it.”

                Leslie sighed, rolling her eyes before stepping toward Miles, arms crossed over her chest. “We can’t just let you go to Providence without warning you first.” The Gunny stated which made Miles groan in frustration. Using his body to fully display his aggravation, Miles grumbled, “Then warn me! What the hell is going on?” At this point, Miles was done with the lack of information being given. He wouldn’t have been so frustrated if they weren’t willing to share anything but these people were giving him information freely. _Where is all this hesitation coming from?_

                “Okay! Can you quit the attitude?” Leslie exclaimed, her eyes widening along with her growing temper. “Look, you have to understand that we are in a really bad situation and even though you are who you say you are, we’re just a bit worried that you’ll do us more harm than good.” She paused, her eyes holding his. “When Monroe dropped the bombs, the Republic was scattered; troops were just kind of wandering. Many of us joined the people of Providence because there was no one else as organized and fair as they were. But the others were lawless. They killed and they pillaged and they took what they could get without any thought of mercy.

                “Those people fell under the leadership of Felix Nabokov. They’ve taken over Wisconsin but that’s all we’ve allowed them to take. Despite all of our efforts to create peace, they only want to take control of everything. Of course, what else could you expect from the monster created by General Monroe himself? They attack towns and cities all across the northeast. It’s getting so out of hand that now they’re threatening President Koenig’s life. That’s why we’ve been put on alert for you, General Matheson. President Koenig knows – we all know – that you were helping the Rebels and Georgia take down Monroe. We know that if anyone can take Nabokov down, it’s you.”

                Miles absorbed all this information, immediately recognizing the name thrown at him. “First of all,” Miles began. “Monroe didn’t train Nabokov, I did. You have me to take for that monster. Secondly, Nabokov is the least of your worries because, three, Monroe didn’t drop the bombs. That was all on the Patriots and that is exactly why I came here. The Patriots pitted the Republic and Georgia against each other, wiped them out, and then came along to sweep up the rest. That’s why Texas is fighting them and why we need the Sovereignty’s aid. I helped train all of you; I _made_ you. You are ruthless and resourceful and damn brutal when you have to be. I _need_ to talk to the President about this. We are running out of time.”

                Captain Buck appeared puzzled, his eyebrows knitting together as Miles spoke. “Patriots?” Captain Buck inquired, seeming to recognize the name. “You mean those U.S. Government guys in the beige uniforms?” Miles looked at Captain Buck suspiciously, wondering if the Sovereignty had actually been occupied by the Patriots already. _If they were, would you really be alive right now?_ Bass questioned, echoing throughout his mind while Miles worked to piece everything together.

                “Yeah, what of it?” Miles inquired before slowly approaching Captain Buck. “Do you know something, Captain?” Captain Buck seemed to buckle under Miles’ authoritative glare. It seemed the Butcher of Baltimore still carried a particular weight even if he was no longer in power. “President Koenig signed a treaty with them that allowed them to retake Washington but that was before we found out they were conspiring with Nabokov and his troops to rip the Sovereignty apart.” Captain Buck informed him, a look of disgust forming as he mentioned the Patriots.

                Miles gave a grin of amusement but it held no trace of joy. “Real sons of bitches, aren’t they?” He commented, receiving a glance from Captain Buck that, for once, held no ill will towards Miles himself. The Captain nodded then sighed heavily before giving Miles a look that told him they would now be leveling with each other no matter how much the former disliked him and vice versa. “We’ll help you get to Providence.” Buck told Miles. “I can’t guarantee a safe passage but we can give you paperwork that should ensure clearance through the towns and cities under our protection. I would send one of my troops with you but, if those imperial soldiers decide to get the drop on us, we need to have as many men as possible.” Leslie interrupted the Captain with the clearing of her throat as she raised her eyebrow at him. The Captain rolled his eyes before returning to Miles. “I mean, we need as many men _and_ women as possible.”

                Leslie grinned, looking around at the three other militia members hanging around the room who were all men. They had been absolutely silent the whole time which kind of freaked Miles out as they just stared at him as if they’d seen some sort of ghost. But all that mattered to Miles was getting to Providence; he needed that treaty to secure the forces required to meet the Patriots in combat. The amount of Rangers they had now just weren’t enough.

                “I can get there on my own, Captain.” Miles assured him. “Just point me in the right direction and I’ll be on my way.” Buck nodded his head curtly before leaning over the table in the room to scribble some directions and instructions on one of the many maps littered across the worn tabletop. Iles leaned over the table next to Buck just as the Captain ordered, “Gunny, get the General some supplies and have his horse taken care of.” Miles locked eyes with Leslie who muttered a response to her Captain before exiting the room. There was something about her that he was familiar with but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. _It doesn’t matter._ He thought, Bass still dominating his internal monologue. _Focus on what needs to get done. Not on what has possibly_ been _done, if you catch my drift._

                “You’re going to want to avoid the south of Pennsylvania. It’s complete hell anywhere near Philly. Also, you got those damn U.S. monkeys running around the north part of Virginia in DC…” Captain Buck went on explaining, giving Miles a detailed path on how to get to Providence before leaving him with the map to secure those documents he promised. Miles’ mind wandered back to the night before Bass and Charlie left for California. He wasn’t sure why it was the first thing he thought of but some bone in his body ached in the memory of their conversation. What was it that Bass said that seemed to resonate with him so well in this moment?

 _____________________________________________________________________________

                Miles strolled around the camp where he observed Rangers disappearing into their tents with jolly fits of laughter despite the Patriot slaughter earlier that day. It was all odd to Miles although he was no stranger to war. Maybe it was the reawakened humanity in him that rubbed him the wrong way but Miles couldn’t help but feel a bit glum after the numbers of how many people cut down reached his ears. He knew it was necessary but it just seemed odd to be happy about a massacre.

                Maybe he should’ve been in his tent, sleeping the night away. But Miles couldn’t take Rachel’s crying anymore. He didn’t have the energy or the patience to listen to her beat herself up again after actively going out of her way to cause the situation. Miles felt bad that he couldn’t be a bit more sympathetic but just because the love his life was crying, it didn’t mean it excused how she got to that point.

                Before he realized it, Miles found himself walking into Bass’ tent. It was something he did before it all happened; walking straight into Bass’ residence like it was perfectly natural. Even after all the time they’d spent apart, it still felt completely natural to do so. Miles wasn’t even sure that he wanted to talk to Bass but, apparently, he subconsciously needed his ex-friend’s company. It was easy to get lost and do things he’d likely regret later when he was in a mood. Usually, he prevented that by drinking himself half to death but there weren’t exactly bottles of liquor just lying about.

                Bass was lying on his cot, a book in his hands as his eyes scanned over the open page. This struck a familiar chord in Miles who immediately thought back to earlier that night when he entered Charlie’s tent to talk to her about going to California. Miles quickly thought about how similar Bass and Charlie were becoming to him; Charlie seemed to get darker while Bass grew saner. It seemed soon they’d be able to meet in the middle and eventually become one entity. As ridiculous as the thought was, Miles couldn’t dispel it. There was no denying whatever connection existed between them that seemed to stem from similar personality traits.

                “What do you want, Miles?” Bass asked, not lifting his eyes from his book as his friend stood in the doorway of his tent. Miles was at a loss for words, unsure of the exact reason he came here. It was as if his mind was about to explode with all this anxiety and frustration building him up and all he wanted was to break down. But he and Bass were not on good terms. Nope, he couldn’t unleash everything he had pent up to _him_. It just wasn’t appropriate. _This was a bad idea._ Miles thought, regretting even allowing himself to become thoughtless for one moment.

                With a sigh of aggravation and slight embarrassment, Miles threw up his hands and sat down in the nearest chair which was placed near the foot of Bass’ cot. “I have no idea.” He admitted, waiting for the sarcastic quip Bass was sure to deliver. But, to Miles’ surprise, no quip came. There was no remark; only silence. Bass slowly lowered the book and placed it page down on his chest. The flames from the many candles lit around the tent flickered along the cover, revealing only a fragment of the book’s title (“ _Civil…_ ” and the rest was obscure). Miles rolled his eyes, suppressing the grin threatening to break along his face as he was quickly reminded of his friend’s sick obsession with the Civil War.

                Bass eyed Miles, searching his face; calculating the problem. This made Miles feel violated as it always had even before their friendship broke. Just by looking at him, Bass could work out exactly what was eating at him. “Let me guess,” Bass assumed, drumming his fingers lightly on the book’s cover. “Your psychotic girlfriend’s just pushed you over the edge.” Miles scowled at Bass, hating the way he insulted Rachel despite him being on the nose about what was bugging him. “What is with you Mathesons and your mindless need to seek me out for comfort when a Porter’s got you all messed up?” Bass added cryptically.

                Miles’ eyebrows knitted together, puzzled by his statement. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Miles questioned, searching Bass’ face for an answer. Just then, Bass picked up his book and hid half of his face behind it as if to prevent Miles from finding the answer. “Your niece came here earlier.” Bass confessed to Miles while trying to remain as nonchalant as possible. “She was crying and I think we both know who did that.” Bass’ eyes revealed an emotion to Miles; one he hadn’t seen in such a great amount of time that he couldn’t quite place his finger on what it was. All he knew was that it made him feel as equally surprised as it made him uneasy.

                “Why the hell would Charlie come here?” Miles blurted as he tried to wrap his mind around his niece seeking Bass’ comfort after experiencing something he knew deeply upset her. Looking up at him, Miles noticed Bass shrug as if he couldn’t care less about the reason why she did. But Miles knew that his friend was most likely as shocked as he was, if not more. Of course, Miles wouldn’t push it because it wasn’t his business and, frankly, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to discover something that everyone had been denying since the moment Charlie brought Bass to Willoughby.

                There was silence between the two for a while before Bass finally lowered the book shielding his face to look at Miles with an expression that tugged at the latter’s heartstrings. “When do you think we’ll see each other again?” Bass asked genuinely with no hint of sarcasm in his voice. “You know, after we’ve done the things we’re supposed to do? Do you think we’ll see each other again?” Miles hadn’t the heart to swat away Bass’ question or even poke fun at it like he usually would. This was a war; they were in a war where they were on the same side again. Even after all the things his friend had done, Miles had to acknowledge that the man he once knew was still there, slowly recovering, and now he was all alone. Bass couldn’t handle completely losing another member of his family; especially not Miles.

                It occurred to him that they were both going to opposite ends of the continent into whatever danger was waiting for them after being partially reunited for almost a year now. There was a possibility that they’d never see each other again and it only brought Miles back to memory of how he felt when he thought Bass was gone forever; when he thought his best friend – his brother – had died at the hands of the blindsided government they were trying to aid. Miles knew Bass couldn’t bear to lose him but he also knew that there was a part of him that couldn’t bear to lose Bass either.

                “I don’t know.” Miles whispered, shaking his head as he moved his eyes from the ground up to meet his friend’s. “I honestly don’t know.” And there it was. That was the truth. There were no quips or witty remarks; no hidden feelings or denials. Miles, in as few words as possible, told Bass everything he didn’t think he’d ever be able to admit vocally. _Be careful,_ Miles translated mentally, holding his friend’s gaze. _Because I forgive you._

*******

                Miles made his way over to the stable where Woody had been resting while his rider had been getting everything sorted. It was dark out in the city with only torchlights guiding his way. No one was really out and about; everyone was surely locking their doors and slipping themselves into bed which Miles wish he could do. But he had a mission and having a full night’s sleep was not part of that. After a power nap and some strong Texas coffee he carried around with him, Miles was ready to be on his way. _Let’s blow this popsicle stand._ Bass’ voice echoed, the childish quality filling Miles with a strange sort of hope that he could make it through all of this.

                Woody was tied up to a post with a familiar head of red hair bobbing around the creature. Leslie made herself look like she was checking him but Miles wasn’t easily fooled. He knew she was waiting for him to talk him about god knows what before he left. Tapping her foot against the gravel as she slid her hands over the gelding’s neck, Miles approached her with a neutral expression. “What do ya want, kid?” He asked, wanting to get this conversation over with.

                The Gunny smiled sheepishly before smoothing a hand through her hair and turning completely to face Miles who was now rounding Woody to mount him. He placed a hand on the saddle, looking down at Leslie as he did. “I wanted to catch you before you left.” She admitted, twiddling her thumbs nervously. Miles raised his eyebrows in an attempt to feign shock. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so rude to the girl as he knew she must’ve had something important to tell him. But crassness came easily to Miles and he wasn’t about to abandon it now because some girl’s feelings got hurt.

                “Wow,” Miles replied sarcastically, a slight smile gracing his face. “I would’ve had no idea.” Leslie rolled her eyes but still held on to the shy smile she allowed to grace her features earlier. Something about her reminded Miles of who Charlie used to be when he had first met her but really comparing the two in his mind dispelled this thought. He refused to believe there was anyone like Charlie; who else could have grown the way she had in such drastic environments?

                “Listen,” Leslie began, pushing a lock of red hair behind her ear. “I was thinking about what you said earlier. About Monroe not dropping the bombs? Yeah, how do you know that? How can you be so sure it was these Patriot guys? It’s been going around for over a year that Monroe destroyed Atlanta and Philly. Hell, Texas even executed him for it! So, I want you to level with me. _How_ do you know?” Miles had been holding her gaze when he now chose to look at a nearby torchlight.

                With a sigh, Miles turned back to Leslie who stood there waiting for his answer patiently. “I was there.” Miles informed her with a very subtle nod. “I was there when the bombs were dropped. Look, it’s a long story but Monroe wasn’t even in the room. He wasn’t anywhere near the building. As much as I would like to say it was him after all he’s done, it just wasn’t. He…” Miles paused for a moment, wondering if he should continue with his train of thought. “He wouldn’t have done that even if he had the means. To Atlanta? Maybe. But not to Philly…Not to the Republic.”

                Leslie opened her mouth to speak, her eyebrows furrowing in response to Miles’ confession. But no words came out of her mouth. Instead, she allowed Miles to mount Woody and then watched the General spur his horse into motion. She watched their retreating figure get lost in the dark as they left the firelight of Carbondale. The young Gunny could only wonder what it must have been like for the General to sit in the same room as the person who dropped those bombs. Would she have been able to stomach it? Surely not. The only thing Leslie could hope for Miles was that he would make it to Providence and, maybe, providence would grab hold of him in return.


	4. Do You Mind?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do You Mind? by The xx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I took so long to get this done! I didn't expect the chapter to be so lengthy but I thought everyone just needed their daily dose of Charloe, especially since the next chapter will not be Charloe-centric. 
> 
> Which reminds me: thank you to everyone who read the last chapter! I was really worried that it would've been overlooked or skipped because it was focused on Miles but many people read it and even gave some commentary about it so thank you so much. I read all of the comments and it makes me really happy; it urges me on.
> 
> Love y'all, u lil lion butts.

                “Why are we stopping again?” Charlie questioned, looking around at the town Bass had just pulled their wagon into. “Did we forget something in the last town? Am I missing something?” Bass wasn’t quite sure why Charlie was being so erratic about the pause in their journey. Honestly, if she asked one more question, he thought he might slap a hand over her mouth to shut her up. But that would only irritate her further and the last thing Bass wanted was Charlie chewing his ear off when he really wasn’t in the mood to get into another pointless argument with her.

                So, Bass just continued on in silence as his eyes wandered around the Oklahoma town of Woodward for a place they could park their wagon and rent a room for the night; it was as if he hadn’t heard the many questions spilling out of Charlie. _Why is she so mouthy today?_ He wondered, spotting a makeshift stable next to a quaint inn. _Can’t she go back to silently brooding and just leave me alone?_ But Bass knew once Charlie had uttered more than her usual amount of words, it was impossible to shut her up unless he didn’t care about hurting her feelings.

                “ _The Wood of the Ward_?” Charlie observed as the neared the small inn with the ridiculously cheesy name. “There are no words for how lame that is.” Bass spared her a glance and the smallest of smirks as he guided Lulu and Spartan toward the little stable being manned by an unknown figure who was dodging in and out of the establishment. As they pulled up next to the entrance, the figure facilitating the stable was discovered to be a petite dark haired woman. Charlie and Bass watched the woman dash around busily despite there only being two other horses in the pathetic shack that barely passed for a stable.

                “’Cuse me?” Bass called to the rushing lady with a charming grin pulling across his face. “Have you got room for two more?” The dark haired woman paused with her hands occupied with two buckets of water before looking up at Bass. With a friendly smile, she looked back at the shack behind her where two horses opted to relax in their stalls rather than venture out into the small paddock fenced off for them. “Yes, sir,” She replied with an enthusiastic Southern drawl before turning back to hold Bass’ gaze. “I’m happy to say we do. Are ya gonna be stayin’ at the Wood?”

                The way this woman was looking at Bass irritated Charlie. She wasn’t sure why her stomach burned and her throat seemed to be closing up but she definitely knew it was because of this lady. Charlie felt like she was going to be sick when Bass chuckled and reached his hand out toward her. “I’m Jimmy King.” He introduced, watching the woman put the buckets down and take his hand. Charlie tried not to look upset as she sat there and watched the interaction. Honestly, she didn’t even know why she was upset. But the feeling was too similar to when Charlie first met Duncan Page. _Maybe this lady’s bad news._ She thought as the dark haired woman squinted, her green eyes prominent because of the sun pressing down on them.

                “Nice to meet ya, Mr. King.” She responded, giving Bass’ hand a firm shake. “I’m Annabel Stevens. I run this establishment, here.” Annabel removed her hand from Bass’ grip and placed it on her hip before using her other free hand to shield her eyes from the sun. Looking past Bass, Annabel’s grin slightly faltered as she finally noticed Charlie seated right next to Bass. With an odd wave, Annabel greeted, “Hello, there. And who might you be, darlin’?” Her sweet Southern hospitality was rubbing her the wrong way but Charlie knew she had to play nice. Plastering a cute little smile on her face, she nodded to acknowledge Annabel.

                “I’m Nora.” Charlie told her, trying to match the enthusiasm being thrown about. “Nora Parker.” Bass glanced at Charlie sideways in an attempt to see her facial expression but the lack of peripheral vision in his left eye prevented it and the last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to them by turning completely to face Charlie next to him. So, instead, he nodded his head and kept his charming grin in place, his eyes fixed on the pretty woman speaking with them. Annabel looked between the two of them. “So, what brings you folks ‘round here?” She inquired, stepping over toward Lulu to pat her on the neck. Annabel then made a motion for them to follow her with the wagon.

                Bass urged the horses on, following Annabel’s movements as she led them to the place they kept the wagons. “My partner here and I are bounty hunters.” He informed her, maneuvering the trailer into an open spot next to another wagon. “Just tracking some wanted criminals.” After that was said, the trailer had been parked and Bass hopped off the wagon as Annabel got to work on the horses. “Let me do that.” Bass insisted, launching forward to untack the horses instead. But Annabel kept on with a wide smile and quick, steady hands. Seeing the two grin at each other made Charlie want to vomit. Rolling her eyes, she jumped down from the trailer and headed toward the inn which stole Bass’ attention. “Hey, where are you going?”

                Charlie turned on her heel, still in motion toward the inn backward. “I’m going to get us a room.” She told him, her face clear of any particular emotion as she patted her back pocket where her diamonds were. When she turned away again, Charlie’s hair whipped around with her and, for some reason, Bass just couldn’t look away as her hips swayed with each step; belt buckles rattling as they did. _Focus._ He thought to himself as Bass forced himself to concentrate on getting Spartan untacked while Annabel led Lulu towards the makeshift barn.

                Bass had to admit that the woman was quite attractive with her dark long hair and green bedroom eyes but he wasn’t as into her as he made it seem with his obvious flirtations. Maybe it was something that just happened – something that came natural – or maybe he was just hoping to blow off some steam before setting off again with Charlie. Bass wasn’t quite sure what he wanted or what he was doing but not even the lovely Annabel could distract him from thinking about the woman renting out a room for the two of them that very moment and that frustrated him. This whole damn trip frustrated him.

                With a deep sigh, he began leading Spartan toward the barn and placed him in the stall next to Lulu who was happily chomping away at some oats Annabel had poured into a bucket hanging off a hook in the corner of the stall. “What are their names?” Annabel asked, rubbing Spartan between the eyes after Bass closed the door to the stall. “They’re such lovely animals.” Bass watched Spartan turn in his stall, away from Annabel, and head out the gate at the back of his stall leading out into the open paddock. Squinting at the retreating creature, Bass leaned against the stall door. “Well, that old boy there is Spartan.” He told her, nudging his head toward Spartan before turning slightly to pat Lulu next to him. “And this here is Lulu. Best thing ever to happen to him, I’ll tell you that.”

                Annabel hummed with a suggestive smirk, giving Bass subtle looks that he easily caught onto but was quite positive no one else would have noticed unless they were as strangely attentive as he was. Despite her apparent interest, Bass didn’t enable anything which was a complete first for him. As frustrated as he was, he had no intention of taking this woman to bed. Could he be pushed to it? Oh, easily but, at that time, he wasn’t sure what the trigger would be. But, of course, he _did_ know what would trigger it; _who_ could trigger it. He just didn’t want to admit that the trigger to his loaded weapon was probably already halfway to their rented room.

***

Charlie flopped down onto the singular bed in the middle of the room before realizing how exhausted she was. Even more so, she was completely irritated and she wasn’t exactly sure why. Though aware that it was because of what was happening between Annabel and Monroe downstairs, Charlie tried to justify it by insisting that the two were on a mission and Monroe shouldn’t be wasting his time trying to get into some woman’s pants. _Was that why we stopped here?_ Charlie thought, wondering exactly why Bass would opt to stay in a town when they had all the supplies they needed to continue camping out in the woods. It made her feel sick thinking that Bass forced their journey to halt to catch some tail.

                Wishing she had taken her book with her before renting their room, Charlie turned over onto her side and closed her eyes, trying to dispel the thoughts plaguing her mind. She thought of Monroe downstairs, using his fingers to push a lock of hair behind Annabel’s ear. Her stomach lurched. She pictured those same fingers sliding down the woman’s cheek before grabbing her chin and pulling her in. Now, Charlie grumbled with a sort of angry, sad embarrassment. She knew Bass would wrap his arm around Annabel’s waist and hold her in an embrace that was equally as tender as it was firm.

                Charlie couldn’t take it anymore. She grabbed a pillow by her head and slammed her face into it, screaming into the fabric with the hope that all of her frustration would become trapped in the softness. But to no avail, she still felt that knot in her chest and that strange sensation between her thighs when her eyes began to well up with tears in response to her frustration. Charlie stayed like this for a while until she found herself drifting off to sleep without witnessing Monroe’s return.

                It was about an hour after she had fallen asleep that Bass finally came up to the room, his pack on his back and Charlie’s in his hand. He had actually been waiting for Charlie to come back down to the trailer to get her things but, when she didn’t come back after half an hour had passed since he parted ways with Annabel to get settled, he finally realized she wasn’t going to show. So, instead, Bass grabbed their things and locked the trailer before passing the young man running the front desk who told him Charlie had gone up to their room. The young man was quite attractive and around Connor’s age which filled Bass with a bunch of mixed feelings; the two most prominent ones being sadness and annoyance.

                Annoyed because Bass couldn’t bear the thought of Charlie even _looking_ at him, especially when the boy had the potential to grab her attention and sad because he reminded Bass of Connor who he found himself worrying about every single day. Maybe he didn’t particularly miss his son’s company but Bass was concerned for his well-being. It terrified him to think that something awful might’ve happened to his boy but Bass couldn’t allow himself to think about that. He had to remain focused on the task at hand. California was priority while Connor came in close second. Once the war was over or some remarkable situation occurred –whichever came first – then Bass would worry about it.

                Bass opened the door to the room with his free hand and walked right in, his eyes immediately landing on Charlie’s figure sprawled across the bed. He watched her chest rise and fall in a steady motion, indicating she was fast asleep. Charlie’s face was completely covered by a pillow which made Bass grin ever so slightly. He always enjoyed watching her sleep because he could tell what sort of state of mind she was in by the way she’d react while unconscious. When Charlie was peaceful for the most part and felt safe, she’d be incredibly still and would rarely stir with the occasional sigh or moan and subtle change in position. But then there were nights where she was troubled and seemed to be completely unable of staying still. She’d mumble in her sleep, face contorting and twitching. Then, she’d frequently wake up before falling back to sleep to repeat the same cycle.

                It was something he acknowledged that he did and didn’t even try to justify it. Bass knew it was just a bit creepy but, to him, being able to observe her was fascinating. Charlie was most vulnerable in her sleep because absolutely _nothing_ woke her up unless something internal occurred. Bass had travelled with her long enough to really discover her limits and his own when maneuvering around her sleeping frame. This love affair he had with Charlie’s unconscious state started the night he rescued her from that bar in Pottsboro.

                Bass had carried her around all night and through the morning until he had found a spot he was sure they’d be safe from harm’s way. Then, he just sat there across from her, knowing he had to stay awake no matter what happened just in case something were to happen. Bass had remained vigilant to protect her. It was hard not to watch her when all she did was stir in her sleep, desperately wanting to wake up from whatever nightmares she was having but being unable because the drugs kept her so far under. He had heard her mumble his name over and over but nothing other than that; only _his_ name. Though Bass knew she was probably having nightmares about him, he felt a bit flattered that he was the only one on her mind.

                From that moment on, Bass made a subconscious decision to observe every single one of her sleeping patterns when the opportunity arose. Bass himself was an extremely light sleeper and now with his recent insomnia, it was getting more difficult to fall and stay asleep when it was his opportunity. So, when he would wake up in the middle of the night while Charlie was on watch, he refused to make any indication that he was awake. Bass noticed how Charlie avoided making any movements; she tried to avoid any type of sound she could create while she sat there and watched over their camp. Bass liked to think it was because she, of all people, knew how easy it was to wake him up after discovering his insane attentiveness that first night they spent together travelling after Pottsboro. Charlie was oddly courteous; especially for someone who hated his guts and wanted to kill him for so damn long.

                Instead of waking her due to his lack of desire to disturb her, Bass just dropped their things as gently as he could before quietly exiting the room. It was funny that he had stopped them at this town specifically so he could get some sleep on a nice bed after the many sleepless nights he’s had to endure with only naps during the day, when Charlie would allow him to use her shoulder as an anchor so he could lean his whole body against her to rest comfortably, to keep him functioning but, instead, it was Charlie who was occupying the object of his current desire. He wasn’t at all upset by it; in fact, it was beneficial because now he could find a bar and drink his troubles away until he found himself at the bottom of a bottle.

***

                Charlie woke up to a dark room with only moonlight spilling through the windows to give her some sort of visual of her surroundings. There was a foul taste in her mouth and she was painfully aware of how disgusting she smelled. Charlie wasn’t sure how long it had been since she washed off but she had to estimate at least four days since that was when they came across a small fresh water lake during their travels. It wasn’t a particularly enjoyable bath due to the water being so cold as she was dumb enough to bathe in the morning rather than at night which is when the water would have been warmer because of the lake absorbing the sun’s heat throughout the day. She only learned this tidbit of information because, when she came back to camp, freshly washed and freezing half to death, Monroe had told her exactly that.

                Just as she adjusted to her surroundings and really started to wake up, the door opened and in came a tall figure. Charlie knew it was Monroe who came in but the darkness made it hard to identify his features; especially when the light from the hallway was spilling in and hurting her eyes. “Whoa.” Monroe mumbled. “What are you? A creature of the night? Why’s it so dark in here?” He moved about in the darkness, shutting the door behind him before finding some matches and lighting the candles in their room, bathing them in fresh firelight.

                It took a moment for Charlie’s eyes to adjust to the new lighting as she attempted to look at Monroe who was now just standing there, grinning at her. With a grimace, she rubbed the light out of her eyes, still feeling a bit sleepy. “What are you smiling about?” She grumbled at him as he stared at her. He chuckled a bit, leaning against the chest of draws where their bags were situated. Crossing his arms over his chest, he shrugged then scratched his chin; his smile irritating and exciting Charlie at the same time. “It’s just,” Monroe began, trying to stop smiling. “You look kind of ridiculous right now. Did you just wake up?”

                Charlie immediately noticed how uncharacteristic he was being but decided not to point it out in fear she would irritate his good mood. “Yeah.” She responded, still grumbling. “How long was I out?” To this, Bass shrugged, his smile faltering now to a more neutral expression as his eyes seemed to soften in a way that made Charlie heart skip a beat. _Stop looking at me like that._ She thought, unsure of her own feelings as they stayed where they were, basking in the firelight. They stayed silent for a couple of minutes, Monroe’s eyes trained on Charlie while Charlie tried not to return the gaze, opting to observe him through her peripheral vision.

                Finally, Charlie broke the silence and looked at Bass. “Can you pass me my bag?” She asked, pointing at the backpack near his feet. Her book was poking out of the side pocket which would have made Charlie nervous if she were paying attention. But she wasn’t; instead, she was watching the way Monroe leaned down and picked up her pack. She was mesmerized by every muscle and every joint it took for him to do the simple action and soon she had to pinch herself back to reality. _Relax._ Charlie told herself, waiting for Monroe to finally hand her what she wanted.

                “ _Lolita_?” Monroe stated with his subtle disbelief making it sound more like a question, drawing Charlie out of her thoughts and fully into the here and now. Charlie didn’t jump up to her feet but her body moved in a way to show she was more alert and slightly panicking. “Give it here.” She demanded, having a hard time keeping her voice steady as she watched Monroe eye the cover of her book. “Monroe, give it to me.”

                Bass flicked his eyes from the cover of the book to Charlie’s face. He couldn’t understand why she seemed so panicked by his discovery. Charlie just didn’t want him asking about the book, completely unaware that Bass already knew the book quite well as he’s read it before. With her backpack and the novel in hand, he stepped over and handed bother to Charlie, his eyes attempting to lock with hers as she became skittish. “I read that book in my senior year of high school.” Bass informed her, managing to capture her eyes with that statement as she grabbed her belongings from his hands.

                Charlie raised her eyebrows, slightly surprised. “You,” She began with a stutter, searching his face. “You’ve read _Lolita_?” Bass nodded as he backed away from her to lean against the chest of drawers once again as he reminisced his last year of high school. It took Charlie a moment to gather her thoughts as she realized that Monroe was _actually_ going to tell her something from what she considered to be his childhood. He’d told her many stories before but, usually, they were quite short and always had something to do with Miles. “What did you think?” She inquired, wanting to know his honest opinion about the novel she was enjoying so much.

                Bass looked up slightly, scratching his scruffy chin as he worked out an answer to her question. “It was one of the best but most boring stories I’ve ever read.” He answered, releasing his chin as his arm dropped down to his side. “I had to write a four page essay explaining the main idea and common themes of the book. But, the more I read, the more I realized there was no main idea; there were no themes.” Bass paused for a moment, recollecting his thoughts and memories as he considered whether or not it was a good idea to talk about this with Charlie. _There’s no harm in discussing a book._ He figured before finally deciding to continue.

                “School was boring for the most part but I had always been really good at English and history – mostly U.S. history – but history nonetheless. I had barely passing grades because I was too lazy to really dedicate myself to excelling. It didn’t really matter since I was going to be leaving for basic training right after graduation anyway. But I’m getting off topic, sorry. Um, the book….yeah. It really has no point. Once you reach the end, you’ll see the author’s note and he even says that there is no main idea to the story. So, that’s what I wrote my four page essay about. I don’t think I’ve ever put as much effort into anything like I put into that. And, you know what grade I got?”

                Bass finally took a moment to breathe, somewhat waiting for Charlie’s guess. But, of course, Charlie wasn’t going to guess. She just sat there, waiting for him to continue. So, Bass just sighed and gave her a little, spiteful grin. “I got a C-minus.” He revealed, shaking his head. “A C-minus! Can you believe that? I’m pretty sure I was the only damn person in my class to understand that book. Hell, I probably understood it better than my English teacher.” Charlie couldn’t hold back the smile that forced its way onto her face as she watched Bass grumble over something so insignificant; so far in the past, it shouldn’t have mattered anymore.

                Charlie watched him rage on, suppressing the laughter that was threatening to bubble out of her mouth. “Then, when I asked him – my teacher, Mr. Hoggs –about it, he said the C-minus was for its _proper diction_ and _expository ingenuity_ but, since I didn’t answer the question properly, I wouldn’t get any more than that. Like, what? Who does that?” That’s when Charlie started laughing at him, cutting him off in the middle of his tirade. It shocked him momentarily when he saw her gleaming with laughter as he hadn’t seen her like that since their game of _I Spy_ on the first day of their travels.

                “What?” Bass questioned, still serious though he knew that if he continued to watch her laugh, he’d begin laughing too. “What’s so funny?” But Charlie didn’t answer; instead, she fell onto her back and rolled slightly to her side on the bed. This made Bass smile, breaking through his initial shock at her reaction. “What the hell, Charlie?” He managed through a chuckle. “You’re going to suffocate if you don’t breathe soon.” Now, Charlie was gasping between fits of laughter, holding her stomach as she did.

                What was wrong with her? Why was she so easily amused by Monroe? She tried to force herself to stop but it was so funny, she couldn’t stop. It took a while before Charlie finally managed to calm down enough to tell Monroe why she reacted the way she did. Sitting back up, her face was still throbbing with the smile pulled across her teeth as she now looked over at Bass. But his expression knocked that grin right off her face as her heart seemed to thunder now in response. Monroe’s eyes displayed a sort of softness that she couldn’t quite describe with emotions but one that reminded her of how her father used to look at Maggie when they were living in Wisconsin. He was looking right at her with that softness, filling her stomach with butterflies and making her cheeks feel hot to the touch.

                Bass would’ve never admitted it but the person he was looking at now was probably the most beautiful thing he had ever seen and he had laid his eyes on many beautiful places and people. He was so in love with her, it took him a moment to register where they were and how much space there was between them. It was this moment they shared now that made Bass acknowledge just how much space in his heart she occupied. But he couldn’t tell her; he couldn’t tell anyone. He just couldn’t and wouldn’t react to the feelings that were ever-present.

                Tomorrow, he would bury these feelings deep within himself once again. But, tonight, he wanted to revel in this. He _liked_ being in love. It made him feel something other than the terrible ache of being numb. Numbness was worse than his own pain; he’d go back to feeling pain everyday if he had the choice. Bass allowed his pain to transform into complete numb because he had been afraid of his own sufferings. But look where being numb had brought him; look at all the things he had done because of it. Bass _brought_ himself here; he set himself up for destruction. If he had only lived with the pain, managed it, and stopped it from taking control of him, he might’ve been a worthy man for Charlie. But what’s done was done and he couldn’t change who he was. He couldn’t do anything to make Charlie love him like he wanted her to. So, the only thing he could be happy with was her forgiveness. The only thing he could do now was bury it all deep and deny it was there despite already being capable of acknowledging everything he felt truly.

                “Stop that.” Charlie ordered, refusing to meet Bass’ gaze. Her voice drew him out of whatever trance he had been in, taking her in with his eyes as he did. “Stop what?” He asked although he had a feeling he knew what she was about to say next. Charlie began fiddling with the book in her lap, flipping the pages nervously as she did everything to avoid Bass’ eyes. “Stop looking at me like that.” She told him, trying to keep her voice steady.

                Bass tried to keep his expression neutral but he just couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. He noticed how nervous she was and he desperately wanted to know why. Maybe it was wishful thinking but he had a sneaking suspicion that she possibly shared similar feelings; though he was quite sure she could never match his passion. “Looking at you like what?” He pressed, curious as to what her answer would be. Charlie looked at him using her peripheral vision, not wanting him to see how pink cheeks were at this point. Why was she so embarrassed? Why did she feel this way? Some part of her knew the answer but she’d never admit to herself that it was true. She simply couldn’t and that’s why she made up any sort of justification; she lied to herself.

                “Like _that_!” She exclaimed, waving her hand around in his direction. “It’s creeping me out.” No, that’s not what it did to her; definitely not. But how else could she justify the feeling of embarrassment? Charlie noticed Monroe look away now, unsure of the emotion on his face as she was not directly looking at him. This filled Charlie with a sense of relief, knowing he was looking at from her. She noticed how tense her body had been as she felt herself loosen up, now able to look at Monroe without the concern of embarrassment.

                “So, why are you reading it?” Monroe asked, turning his back to her to rifle through his bag for something. Charlie stared at his back, now facing the new problem of having to discuss the book with him. “I-I don’t know.” She stuttered in response. “I just picked it up because it looked interesting.” Monroe pulled off his shirt, revealing the scars on his back that Charlie was all too familiar with. Her eyes wandered down the length of his body, a strange sensation gnawing in her pelvis. “Last time I checked,” Monroe began, now kicking off his boots. “the book’s cover is completely wrecked. You can’t even read the title without straining your vision. So, it didn’t just look interesting, _Charlotte_.”

                Charlie should have looked away as he was stripping down but she couldn’t help but stare. She swallowed back whatever knot was in her throat as she listened to his words and tried not to become hypnotized by his motions. “Okay.” She replied pathetically, trying to collect any sort of explanation for her fascination without revealing any of the elements that resonated with her. “The, uh, summary said it was a love story. I guess that’s why.” Monroe was now pulling off his belt and Charlie wasn’t sure how to handle it. Her heart was racing as she anticipated some sort of action from him. She was drawn back to her thoughts of his tender touches that she had just before she had fallen asleep except now Charlie saw herself in that. _Keep it together, Charlie._ She snapped at herself mentally.

                “A love story, huh?” He replied, now fiddling with a clean shirt he had pulled out of his bag. “Dreaming of dad kinks and age differences, are we?” Charlie began to feel uncomfortable with the stifling air in this room, pressing in on her; choking her. She didn’t know how to respond as she pondered on the elements of the book he just relayed to her. So, Charlie simply sat there and clutched at her book, attempting to tear her eyes away from Monroe. Now, she heard her stepping over toward her and her heart began to constrict within her chest. Her thoughts were jumping from one thing to the next as he got closer. One thought was of his naked torso, another was of his arms wrapping around her, and another was of him leaning in against her, his lips just an inch away from her--

                “Do you mind?” He asked, hovering over her and pointing at the towels underneath her foot, completely disrupting her thoughts. “There’s a bathroom down the hall and I kind of need that.” Charlie looked up at him, trying hard to keep her eyes fixed on his rather than his bare chest. She was keenly aware of how close he was in proximity. When Charlie didn’t hand him the towel, Monroe wrapped his hand around her ankle and lifted it while grabbing it with his free hand instead. Their eyes were locked as they made this sort of contact, Charlie’s bottom lip quivering with uncertainty. Monroe knew she wasn’t afraid but there was some sort of anxiety eating at her.

                Then, he dropped her ankle and slung the towel over his shoulder before turning to pick up the clothes he had pulled out of his bag. Bass walked toward the door, wrapping his hand around the handle as he began to pull it open. But, rather than leave immediately, he stayed there for a moment. Charlie stared at him, her expression was one he couldn’t quite read. “You should take one too.” Bass told her, his voice level and face neutral. “You smell rank.” And, with that, he left the room and closed the door behind him, giving Charlie the incentive to release the breath that she had been holding.

***

                Charlie walked back into the room, her hair dripping onto and into her clean tank top. She decided to wear a pair of sweatpants – her only pair of sweatpants – to sleep in instead of her usual jeans as she felt she deserved a break from the typical. Also, she kind of had no choice as all of her different pairs of jeans were soaking wet after a good wash and hanging in the laundry room near the bathroom of the inn right next to Monroe’s clothing.

                Walking in, she saw Monroe pulling some sheets and pillows off the bed and throwing them onto the floor. “What are you doing?” Charlie asked, throwing her wet towel on the floor in the corner of the room. Monroe didn’t turn to look at her as he now began to crouch and rearrange the sheets and pillows into a comfortable sleeping area. Charlie shut the door and stepped further into the room, her wet hair dripping all over the arms crossed over her chest.

                “I’m making my bed.” Monroe stated, stacking the pillows on top of each other. “What does it look like I’m doing?” Now, Monroe stood up and faced Charlie. His eyes held her own before slowly drifting down. Charlie wasn’t aware of this as she looked at the bed just when his eyes drifted. If she had spotted this, however, she would have realized that Bass was watching single drop of water drip down her golden-brown chest, right down the ridge of her breasts. _That’s not gentlemanly._ He thought, moving his eyes to somewhere more appropriate. _Stop being so creepy._ Looking at the state she was in, it was becoming more difficult not to take in every inch of her body. Every supple curve, every little detail.

The droplets of water in her hair were gleaming in the firelight, dripping down on her bare skin which he suspected was as smooth as he pictured it. Hell, he _knew_ her skin was soft because of every little skin to skin touch he managed to obtain when it occurred; and it did occur very rarely. Her blue eyes were trained on the bed next to them, her curving mouth parted ever so slightly as it seemed unspeakable thoughts were racing around her head. This was difficult for Bass and, oh _god_ , was it just as hard for her.

                “I thought we would be sharing the bed.” She mumbled, catching Bass off guard as her voice sounded so small in the silence. “I wouldn’t care if we did. It’s not like you’re going to do anything.” Bass had trouble detecting a particular emotion in her voice. The only one that came up was disappointment but Bass had to be doubtful. If she was disappointed, that meant she _wanted_ him in the bed with her. He wasn’t going to risk anything to go on a hunch; this was a very delicate game they were playing.

                “Trust me, Charlie,” Bass told her, catching her eyes as they moved up to look at him. “I’d sleep better on the floor than in a bed next to you.” There was complete silence between them as Bass watched her try to decipher the exact meaning behind what he had just said. It was amazing to see how the sexual overtone in his statement had just flown right over her head. Bass was sure that if she figured it out, she’d either punch him in the jaw or pull him down in the sheets on top of her. He’d take either one like a man but he desperately wanted the latter.

                “Oh, okay,” Charlie responded, sadness peeking its way through her carefully calculated nonchalance. “Suit yourself then.” Monroe’s statement disappointed Charlie. _He’d rather sleep on the floor than sleep next to me._ She thought as she crawled into the bed, a frown on her face. _Do I really turn him off that much?_ It was a strange sort of insecurity winding its way around Charlie’s mind. Though Charlie was quite sure she couldn’t care less what Monroe thought of her physically, it still made her a bit upset thinking that he didn’t even _think_ about having sex with her. Not that she’d let anything of the sort happen (there she goes, lying to herself again). It just would have been a big boost for her ego knowing that Monroe had some sort of physical attraction to her.

                Charlie always acknowledged Monroe as a passionate being. He was full of raw and feral power; he reacted on his instincts and his instincts were always to protect what was his own. Charlie entertained the idea that this was one of the reasons why Monroe always seemed to go out of his way to save her life. Some part of her liked thinking that Monroe thought she was his. Not that she likes the idea of being someone’s property or possession; it wasn’t that. It was just that she always felt like they had some sort of special connection; a bond that bound her to him. That bond burned in her wrist and throbbed through the mark she had been given when she allowed herself to be conscripted by his militia. Sometimes she even fantasized about being sexually intimate with him. It was hard to deny how his touch burned and how his gaze ignited something inside her that was difficult to snuff out.

                She knew she felt _something_ for the man now blowing out the candles in the room. Charlie just didn’t want to believe it was anything emotionally tethering. As he laid down in his borrowed pillows and sheets next to bed, she would only allow herself to acknowledge that she was attracted to him in a physical way. She didn’t want to be but a girl likes what she likes and what Charlie liked was Monroe. His strong arms and the facial hair along his sharp jaw; his lean back and the way he moved; the cerulean eyes that took her own and held them for as long as she would allow. He was an attractive man but that’s all it was; that’s all it _could_ to be.

                But now, lying in that bed next to the man that made her body burn and who made the space between her thighs throb, she felt like a child. Charlie was half his age yet here she was lusting after a man who had been with many different types of women probably before she was even born. He had a son; a son she had slept with that one time they were altogether. And at that time, the only thing she could think of was if Connor was anything like his father. It wasn’t something she admitted at the time as she couldn’t bring herself to it. But now she knew better and it embarrassed her. Being around Monroe was embarrassing because she wanted him to look at her like a woman but all he could see her as was his best friend’s niece. She _hated_ when he called her kid because she didn’t _want_ him to see her as a little girl.

                “Bass?” She called out softly in the dark, almost regretting doing so immediately. He didn’t reply which filled Charlie with relief as she was unsure she really wanted to know the answer to the question pressing in on her mind. But, then, she heard Monroe stir, shuffling in the sheets on the floor. “Charlie?” He answered back sarcastically in the same soft voice she had to mock her. Charlie rolled her eyes, staring at the dark ceiling above her. “Remember in New Vegas,” She began before giving herself time to change her mind. “When you caught me with Connor?”

                To this, Bass grumbled and then shifted again, indicating that when he called her name, he turned around to look at her in the dark. “I don’t want to talk about this, Charlotte.” He told her, clearly annoyed with the thought. Charlie turned on her side, trying to find Bass’ figure in the dark. He might not have wanted to talk about it but Charlie wanted her question answered; she wanted to know. “Why were you so mad?” She asked him. “We were two consenting adults and it was only a one-time thing so why were you so angry about it? Why are you _still_ angry about it?”

                Bass didn’t reply because he wasn’t sure whether he should give Charlie the half-truth or the whole truth. If he gave her the whole truth, it would give her incentive to completely withdraw from him. But, if she felt the same way, he knew he would lift himself into the bed right next to her and close his mouth over her own to seal the deal. Bass wasn’t sure he was brave enough yet to take the risk. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he was ready to deal with the repercussions if anything _did_ happen between them. So, he buried his full truth and met her halfway. “Connor deserves to be with a girl whose family will accept him no matter who he is.” Bass explained to Charlie. “Connor will always be a Monroe and the Matheson Clan has quite a history with one Monroe in particular. He’d never be happy or accepted. You’re just not the right person for him.”

                Charlie thought he was done but then she found herself listening to him continue on. “Connor is a boy, Charlotte. That Neville kid was a boy. But, you? You’re a woman and you deserve to be with a man. You don’t have time for any type of childish love game. You need a man who is going to everything he can to protect you; a man who will kill for you. One that’s capable of being as passionate about you as you would be of him. _That’s_ what you deserve. Connor needs to find himself a girl to settle down with and you, Charlotte, need to find yourself a man that’ll follow you to the ends of the earth when you put yourself on whatever crazy mission you’ve managed to create.” There was silence between the both of them after that. Charlie was a bit shocked at his revelation just as Bass was shocked with how close he managed to get to the whole truth without telling Charlie the thing that could drive her toward or away from him.

                Swallowing back the knot building in her throat, Charlie finally broke the silence. “I don’t need a man.” She told Bass, pausing for a while as she tried to get the next part of her phrase out. Charlie lied there, wondering whether she should tell him exactly what she wanted to. But, before she could even get the courage to tell him, he interrupted her. “I know.” He replied. “You’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. You don’t _need_ anyone. I’m just saying that when the time comes and you find yourself wanting to really commit to someone, he needs to be a man. Not a boy.”

                This isn’t at all what Charlie meant by not needing anyone though what he said was completely true. But Charlie had lost her nerve; she’d taken too much time to really think about whether or not she should be honest with him. So, with that, she turned away from Bass’ direction and closed her eyes. Though she wasn’t able to tell him what she had wanted to, she could take comfort from the fact that he didn’t see her as a child; Bass didn’t see her as just some little girl. Her insecurity fell away and as she fell asleep, she felt just a bit more empowered.


	5. Tomorrow Comes Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow Comes Today by Gorillaz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry that this took so long! I just got so distracted and then I lost motivation but it's done! The next update won't be so far from now; you can hold me to it.

                Rachel wasn’t quite sure why she, her father, and Aaron were still hanging around Austin’s war camp. It had been a few weeks since Miles and Charlie had left on their separate journeys so it seemed pointless to be there. Gene was aiding the medics as he had a sufficient amount of medical experience. But, as Rachel pointed out, there were plenty of other qualified doctors in Austin that could take over. This was something Gene agreed with yet, still, rather than packing up and heading back to Willoughby, the group remained in the camp.

                Not one to sit down and rest, Rachel was right by her father’s side, helping him care for the patients that came in. The amount of nearby Patriot camps was decreasing but there were still quite a few of them to go through. Today was no different. There was an immediate influx of injured soldiers despite the successful mission of relieving a local town of their Patriot occupation. The injuries ranged from ridiculously minor to insanely major. Obviously, the latter was dealt with before the former.

                Rachel marched into the medical tent, the sound of a man screaming reaching her ears and filling her with a cold panic that she had to fight to keep under control. Despite having seen injury so often and being able to keep herself steady, Rachel still found herself feeling uneasy when dealing with injuries. This unease was especially apparent as the injury was caused by something Rachel found herself hating more each moment she was exposed to it; and that was war. No matter the amount of her bloodlust, she couldn’t bear this state of turmoil and mindless violence under the guise of being the greater good.

                Gene was shouting orders at the any medics available near him as Rachel came up beside him. “Tell me what you need me to do.” She told him, looking at the Ranger’s leg oozing dark red liquid and keeping herself focused. Gene immediately handed his daughter a long, flat cord. Rachel didn’t need to be told what to do as she grabbed the cord and wrapped it around the soldier’s leg, right above the bullet wound. “He’s going to lose it,” Rachel mumbled breathlessly as she watched her father work around the Ranger. “Isn’t he?” Gene gave Rachel a single glance and it was all the confirmation she needed before he turned around and shuffled around the medical tool kit by his feet.

                “Hold him down.” Gene ordered, taking a deep breath before wrapping his hand around the saw in his kit. Rachel rounded the gurney and placed her hands on the soldier’s shoulders. The other medics got to work around them, injecting him with a sort of sedative and then placing their hands on the wounded Ranger. This soldier stared up into Rachel’s eyes, terror glazing over his hazel gaze. He swallowed back a panicked breath as he managed to stutter, “Is it going to hurt?” Rachel didn’t answer his question; instead, her eyebrows knitted together as she tried to keep her emotions under control.

                “What’s your name?” Rachel asked him, her voice quaking in anticipation. The Ranger, still in immense pain but now relaxing due to the sedative, opened his mouth but didn’t say anything. It took a moment to regain his voice as his panic settled. “Quincy.” He told her, taking a deep breath and swallowing down his fear. “Jonah Quincy.” And, with the revelation of his name and the relaxation of his muscles, Gene got to work by applying the blade against Jonah’s skin and sawing through.

                Rachel held onto Jonah’s body as he jolted, screaming with pain rather than panic. Shutting her eyes, she heard the slice of the saw being passed back and forth through Jonah’s flesh. She’d been through a few amputations and they never got easier but, rather, got more difficult to stomach. The only thing was, after the amputations, she never saw the amputees ever again. They all either died or vanished after being discharged from their service. Rachel wasn’t sure whether this was better than seeing them afterward or worse but she knew she’d continue to opt out of ever seeing any of them again. She really wasn’t sure if she could handle it otherwise.

                The procedure seemed to wear on for hours while the knot in Rachel’s throat only grew bigger. She didn’t dare look up once to see how her father was doing but she was sure this was as hard for him as it was for Jonah. The Ranger continued to scream and move is body in response to the pain shooting up every part of his body. Jonah’s arm darted up, his hand wrapping around Rachel’s wrist. His fingernails dug into her skin but Rachel didn’t dare remove her arm. She continued to apply pressure down on his shoulders until the bitter end.

                “Keep him steady!” Gene shouted, dropping the saw and heading over to a fire nearby where an iron wand had been sitting for quite some time. Rachel kept her head down as the sound of the clanging metal came closer. Jonah began to shout again as Gene pressed the flat, hot iron against the bloody stump of a leg, cauterizing the wound. Then, it was over. Rachel watched Jonah weep and moan in pain as she released his shoulders, ripping her arm out of his grip. Her wrist stung as she lifted it up to take a look; blood dripped down her skin and onto the floor of the tent.

                Rachel didn’t stay another moment. She immediately turned away and walked out of the tent, clutching at her uneasy stomach. Just as she got past the flaps of the ten, she felt her stomach lurch. Bending down near the side of the tent, she heaved the contents of her empty stomach, acid spilling out onto the ground. As she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, Rachel wondered exactly what was going on with her. She had never lost control like this; _never_. So what was so different now? Her nerves were practically standing on their own, all exploding up her spine.

                Was she just hormonal or had she absolutely lost her mind to her own anxieties? She wasn’t quite sure anymore. All Rachel knew was that she needed to get away from this camp. She wasn’t sure she could handle being surrounded by the pressures of war for any longer than necessary; and this wasn’t necessary. Rachel came to the conclusion to talk to her father once he was finished making his rounds in the medical tent. So, she decided to convince Aaron and Priscilla first instead.

                Crossing her arms over her chest, Rachel seemed to float around the camp like a ghost, making her way slowly to the tent Aaron was occupying with his wife. When she arrived, however, her ghostly demeanor fell away and gave a clear path for steely resolve to take its place. Rachel’s eyes wandered over the tent as she captured Aaron’s gaze in the process. “What are you doing?” Rachel asked, nodding her head at the bags the two had just been packing before she made her entrance.

                Aaron looked at Rachel, his eyes wide which indicated that he had been hoping to avoid this sort of confrontation. His mouth was slightly open as he gathered a breath. He usually did this when he was on the defense; ready to explain his actions when caught red-handed. Priscilla sat on the cot next to her bag, looking between Rachel and Aaron. “Rachel, before you say anything, let me just—” Aaron began but Rachel wasn’t haven’t it. She shook her head, swallowing back her emotions along with the shout she wanted to let out. “You can’t leave.” Rachel told him, her voice cracking. “I’m not letting you leave.”

                Aaron sighed heavily, a sadness crossing his features as he placed a hand on his bag. “I have to Rachel.” He insisted. “ _We_ have to.” Rachel waited for his explanation but Aaron just stood there in silence, Priscilla following his lead. Taking a moment to get herself under control, Rachel regained her usual steel; that demeanor she displayed when she intended to get her way. “Why?” She questioned, her voice now an even line in contrast to the emotion she displayed before.

                Rachel felt everything crashing down around her. First, her daughter left without so much as a goodbye. Then, Miles left soon after into a potential war zone, causing her more grief than she wanted to admit she felt. Now, Aaron was threatening to run off again as well. It was all too much for her and, as strong as she was, she couldn’t handle it. In a world where instant communication was damn near impossible, Rachel wasn’t keen on letting her loved ones go places without her. It was her instinct to shelter and protect them from potential dangers but it was becoming harder to control what was happening anymore. And Rachel _hated_ feeling out of control.

                “It’s the nano, Rachel.” Aaron explained with a bit of desperation. Rachel looked at Aaron, puzzled by the mention of the nanotech. Despite being a real threat, she hadn’t paid their presence much attention since their last interaction. So much had been happening around her that there just wasn’t any time to concern herself over it. “Look, this is my responsibility. Priscilla and I have to go after it and stop it from whatever it’s planning to do. We can’t stay here, Rachel.” Rachel stepped farther into the tent, her eyebrows knitting together due to her continuous puzzlement. His half-explanation was irritating her and filling her, again, with a cold panic. But she wouldn’t let it show; no, she was too good at hiding her anxiety.

                “I’m sorry. I’m just confused.” Rachel told him, lifting one hand to rub her temple. “What exactly do you know about the nano?” Aaron looked at Priscilla who nodded her head slowly, gathering her thoughts. Priscilla looked down at her feet before bringing her eyes back up to meet Rachel’s. “When the nano was leaving me,” She began, her voice quiet but even. “it left behind a thought. I’m not really sure how to explain it but I do know that what they have in mind makes the Patriots look like babies. All their experiments with the fireflies and the rats; the experiments with those other people back in the house...It’s for something much greater than this war. It’s bad, Rachel. It’s really, _really_ bad.”

                Rachel nodded her head as she took in Priscilla’s words. “Okay.” She replied, clearing her throat. “Do you know where they are?” Aaron rubbed the back of his neck while Priscilla looked up at Aaron sheepishly. Rachel, once again, was extremely puzzled by their reactions. Despite her irritation, she held onto her patience and waited for any sort of response. “Well, no.” Aaron admitted. “The only thing Priscilla could make out was a ‘grinning man’…Whatever that means.”

                Lifting her eyebrows, Rachel blinked at them while saying, “Oh, so your plan was to wander the states aimlessly in hopes you’ll find this…” She paused for a moment, furrowing her eyebrows together to express how ridiculous she thought their plan was. “ _Grinning man_?” Her sarcastic emphasis was placed on the last phrase in hopes it would knock some sense into the two. Aaron groaned, taking his glasses off before rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I know it sounds ridiculous…” He attempted to reply before Rachel cut him off.

                “Ridiculous is an understatement, Aaron.” She insisted, stepping closer to the two. “What you’re suggesting is practically suicide!” Rachel now placed both of her hands on her hips, ready to lecture him on why the two of them shouldn’t go through with their plan. “You have no idea where they are. They could literally be anywhere! Wandering around the country, looking for them during a _war_? What if you get captured or killed? It isn’t logical, Aaron. Not only is it dangerous but it’s a complete waste of time. You might as well stick around and wait until something comes up.” Rachel took a breath and looked between the two of them. When they didn’t respond, she proceeded to offer up a compromise.

                “Okay, look, here’s what we’ll do,” She offered, sticking her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “We’ll ask around camp for any available information. Something’s gotta give, right? If we don’t hear anything around here, I’ll pack up with you guys and we’ll head to wherever we might get a lead, okay? Just level with me here, alright? We’ll figure this out.” Aaron didn’t respond immediately; instead, he locked eyes with Priscilla, silently asking if this was a better option. Priscilla only shrugged before nodding her head. That’s when Aaron lifted his eyes up to meet with Rachel’s again. Twisting his mouth, he sighed before uttering, “Fine. Where do we start?”

***

                Where _should_ they start? That was an excellent question and one that kept Rachel’s mind occupied in the following days. She continued her wanderings around the camp, only aiding when she was needed. But, usually, she just listened in to people’s conversations, hoping to pick up on anything that might lead to the location of the nanotech. Did she really believe that anyone here _knew_ about it? No. But a part of her knew it was possible and this part kept her dedicated to her search.

                Most of the gossip around the camp was petty but Rachel sifted through all of it, not risking anything. And this paid off when she caught wind of what the former Patriot President’s fate was while sitting outside of her tent one night, eating supper. The mention of Jack Davis held Rachel’s attention as she picked up whatever information she could from the Rangers conversing nearby. Of course, they didn’t know much more than the date of his trial which would be two weeks from then. This tidbit of information gave Rachel a familiar feeling; an intuition that told her to investigate further.

                So, discarding her half-empty bowl of stew, Rachel made her way to Frank Blanchard’s tent in hopes that the General could answer some of the questions forming in her mind. She entered the tent slowly, unsure of how to make her presence known. General Blanchard’s tent was the largest in the camp as it was also a base to strategize with particular war leaders. Knowing how unpredictable the General could be, Rachel braced herself for any sort of craziness she would come across when entering his territory.

                Luckily, it was all very innocent. The General was sat back in a chair, a glass of whiskey in his hand as his eyes wandered the large, round table before him. A map with loose chess pieces lined up on certain points took up the surface of the table and that’s what the General seemed to be studying as he sipped back his alcohol. But his wandering eyes immediately flitted upward to view Rachel as she came into the tent. No words were spoken as Blanchard worked to place Rachel’s face. He recognized her but just couldn’t remember her name. He was also puzzled as to why she would be dropping by his tent at this late hour.

                “You’re Matheson’s lady, aren’t ya?” Blanchard inquired, lifting a finger off of his glass to point at her. Rachel crossed her arms and nodded, her mouth set in a firm line as she looked at him. Frank gave a throaty chuckle before taking another sip of his whiskey. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Mrs. Matheson?” The General nudged his chin toward a chair situated on the opposite side of the table. Rachel stepped further into the tent and sat herself down in the chair, her arms still folded over her chest. There was silence between them for a moment as Rachel tried to form her thoughts into coherent words.

                “I came to talk to you about Jack Davis.” She told Blanchard, looking at him with her steely blue gaze. To this, Blanchard hummed, scratching his furry chin before getting onto his feet. With a nod of his head, he wandered over to his liquor cabinet and waved his glass at Rachel, offering her some. She shook her head, looking down at the table in front of her as he poured himself another glass. “I’m going to need this if we’re going to talk about that whackjob.” The General insisted before walking back to his seat and plopping himself down. “Not sure why you would want to know about that psycho.”

                Rachel tilted her head in curiosity. “What do you mean?” She wondered, her eyebrows furrowing to convey her confusion. Blanchard took a sip of his whiskey, rubbing his temple with an index finger. “I _mean_ , the Patriot scumbag has been goin’ off about talking to his dead father or somethin’.” He explained, his eyes widening. “He’s been claimin’ someone must’ve drugged him or somethin’ because he’s hallucinatin’. I’m tellin’ ya, the son of a bitch is a _real_ piece of work. He’s probably just cryin’ wolf to avoid trial.” Blanchard shook his head with distaste as if in complete disapproval of the former President.

                The General’s words caused something to click in Rachel’s mind as she recalled Aaron’s “condition” earlier in the year before this all had happened; when the Patriot occupation was still at large and the nano was quite unknown. If what the General was telling her had some sort of link to the nano, it might’ve been worth the effort to follow up on it. “Where’s Davis being held?” Rachel questioned, leaning forward against the table. Blanchard had been staring down his glass before lifting his eyes to meet Rachel’s. He raised one brow, intrigued by her sudden interest. “And why would you want to know somethin’ like that?” He countered, lowering the glass into his lap.

                She hadn’t had much experience around General Blanchard, nor did she know much about it; in fact, this was the first time she’d actually spoken to him. But Rachel knew how to get what she wanted; when her mind was set on something, she charged ahead after it no matter how much trouble it might bring. So, with a very subtle grin, Rachel continued to hold Blanchard’s gaze. This look indicated that whatever she wanted, she got and that there was no use in fighting her. “I want to talk to him.” Rachel told the General, her resolve solid. “And you’re going to make that happen.”


End file.
